Date: Sat, 14 Jul 2007 20:32:58 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com"
Subject: The Brazilian. Part III (Authoritarian)
THE BRAZILIAN
by Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)
CHAPTER 10
Thinking I could put Rico and Beauty "on hold" during Juan's visit was
ridiculous of course. Juan was completely attuned to having hundreds of
slaves available to him at any time and trying to limit him just to my bed
was absurd.
The next night, Juan and I reached new levels of enjoying each other's
bodies. But, by 2 A.M. Juan asked if my two slaves could "at least" put on
a little show for us as we were playing around and shortly after that, Rico
and Beauty were staging one of their tableaus they often presented for my
guests.
But, even before they dutifully started to fuck each other for our
amusement, Juan started directing them, first having Beauty lower himself
onto Rico's prick and then proceed to pump himself; next having Rico on all
fours while Beauty fucked him. Neither slave was allowed to shoot off
during their performances, especially difficult when Juan ordered the two
slaves to suck each other off in a 69 position we could both view easily.
Both slaves were covered in sweat with every muscle tensed as they
performed, biting their lips as they struggled to keep from having the
forbidden orgasm.
"Jesus, Juan," I said as I watched the slaves performing while Juan
was languidly fucking me, "at least let them get some relief."
"Nonsense, Christian. It's good for slaves to practice self-control.
Reminds them of what they are," was Juan's reply as he pumped into me
somewhat more vigorously.
Well, Juan got his relief, deep within my rectum. And I got mine,
deep down his throat a little later. But my poor slaves never did, at
least when performing for us on top of a large library table in my bedroom
where we could view them easily.
But relief did come for them the next morning. Juan, waking up long
before me, had supervised the preparation of a breakfast to his liking and
Beauty, being a young black buck, had been milked to supply the fresh cum
Juan liked in his omelette as well as coating his breakfast rolls. But Juan
was ravenous and one omelette wasn't enough. Beauty's second milking
yielded little and so Juan had to make do with Rico's cum, certainly
plenteous after all the stimulation he had the night before, but "not as
sweet as a pure black's" according to Juan's assessment.
By the time I arrived in the dining room, both Rico and Beauty were
strangely flaccid and both looked a little sheep-faced as they brought me
what I wanted: corn flakes and orange juice.
"Why aren't you hard?" I asked.
"Master, we've been .... we've been.. milked," Rico stammered out, his
rich brown skin turning a strange shade of pink as he blushed in
embarrassment.
"Milked dry, Master," Beauty added with a shamed look on his face.
"Master Juan milked us for his breakfast, Master."
"Omelettes and frosting for his breakfast roll?" I smirked.
"Yes, Master," the two slaves answered in unison, both amazed I could
read their minds.
"Master Juan is accustomed to that for breakfast. Back on his ranch,
that's what he has every morning as far as I know," I informed them. "When
I was there, he kept a nice-looking black slave with very large balls,
still in his teens, in the kitchen just for that purpose."
I noticed Beauty shuttered at the revelation, realizing his probable
fate if he belonged to Master Juan.
"What's the problem, Christian?" Juan burst into the room, freshly
showered and dressed for the day by now. "Didn't Beauty realize slaves can
be milked like any other animal" he laughed.
"He probably never thought about it, Juan," I replied. "He's only
belonged to my friend Will and I so far and doesn't know much about all the
uses slaves are put to these days."
"Well, his innocense is appealing. I noticed when I fucked him, he
was cooperative enough but responded like I was being a little rough. I'd
like to see his reaction if he were in my training center back at the
ranch. Those trainers of mine aren't noted for their gentleness," Juan
laughed, "and that's good because a slave never knows who or what he's
going to be sold to. Some owners, I understand, really enjoy treating
their slaves rough - very rough. I've even had a few buyers looking to
replace stock they got too zealous with in their lovemaking and destroyed
their own property in the process. Pretty stupid - destroying your own
property but it's their money," Juan sighed.
"Makes you wonder what happens to slaves given away as corporate
gifts," I commented, thinking of the beautiful slaves Juan sold yesterday
right here in my living room. "Do you ever hear what happens to slaves
just given away, Juan?"
"Only from that client I sold to yesterday," Juan said. "By the way,
any of those frosted rolls left, Beauty?"
Beauty quickly exited to the kitchen and returned with a plate
containing two more rolls, both glistening with his own creamy white
cum. It was quite obvious he didn't like looking at how his manly output
was being utilized that morning, but he properly knelt before Master Juan
for presentation of the rolls, his eyes downward in respect.
As Juan took a bite into the roll, he slurped up the icing with his
tongue and savored the treat before continuing to answer my question.
"My client doesn't get too much direct feedback but he does run into
his gifts now and then when visiting his business associates. He claims
since he only gives away the best looking, heaviest hung slaves he can buy,
most of them end up as his associates' sex slaves where they get pampered
and spoiled over time. He said one of his associates died once and the gift
he had given him was returned but that slave was so cocky and full of
himself by then he had to send him off for serious retraining before he
could give him away again. The retraining center was harsh but thorough,
and when the slave came back to him - at considerable expense for his new
training, he added - he was fine to give away again. But, Christian, he
added he thought the retraining center had sort of overdone it - the slave
tremored and shook a lot when on display and was so eager to fulfill any
command at all he came off as a beaten dog that never got over it if you
know what I mean. My client said if he ran into a slave like that again -
too big for their own britches - he'd just sell him on the open market for
whatever he could get and suffer the losses. That, or just sell him off
for his body parts."
"And what would you do under those circumstances, Juan," I asked out
of genuine curiosity, while I enjoyed the alarmed look in both Rico's and
Beauty's eyes, now in slave display again.
"Well, it would depend, Christian," Juan replied as he picked up the
second roll and began licking off the 'frosting.' "First off, I'd see
where the boy was originally trained or whether he was bred. If he'd been
at a good training center, like the one I run, I'd just write him off as a
loss and sell him for rendering. If a slave's been properly trained to
start with, you'd never have a problem like that - forgetting what you are
is at the core of it, you know. But, if he'd had shoddy training to start
with or was a bred slave who'd probably had little or no formal training,
it'd be worth the cost to enroll him in a reputable training program -
something like the one I have down on the ranch. But, to get that sort of
consideration, he'd have to be one damn fine looking stud with lots of
years of service left in him, let me tell you."
"There's an answer for everything, it seems," I replied. "At least
when it comes to slaves."
"I'm curious about Beauty's training," Juan countered. "Rico's I know
is good - I did it myself," he laughed. "That training will last a
lifetime if you don't muck it up with a stupid owner. But Beauty I wonder
about. He resisted just a tad when I milked him this morning and when I
fucked him yesterday he wiggled around just a bit too much to tell me he'd
had good training."
Beauty's eyes shot to the floor in shame and he shivered noticeably at
the report from his master's guest.
"He was trained at a state slave training center in Kansas according
to Will, his original owner. Of course, he was just 16 at the time but it
seems to me that would make it all the better. Will never had a bit of
trouble with him I know, nor have I," I added. "Why, aren't the state slave
training centers any good in Kansas?"
"I have no idea. Did his last master tell you how long he was in that
training center?" Juan pushed the issue.
"I think he said four months or so, maybe six - I can't remember. I
could call him to find out if you think it's important, Juan."
"Don't bother, Christian. It's not the time as much as the quality of
the program itself. Some government programs in Brazil are O.K. but some
are just a joke - depends on which province. Some know exactly what
they're doing - some don't. Maybe that's the case in the U.S. Every heard
of any problems of Kansas trained slaves, Christian?" Juan asked with some
concern.
"No, Juan, but I wouldn't hear that sort of thing anyway. It's not
like I'm into buying slaves everyday, you know."
"I've got my sources. I'll check around before I leave. If the slave
has been in a decent training program, that's one thing and you can relax.
If he hasn't, I can take him back to Brazil on my plane and run him through
my own training center and have him back to you within a month without a
scar on his body and raring to go. I won't even charge you for it since
you've proved to be a great host, Christian."
Beauty, hearing all of this, broke into tears without breaking
position and tried to make sure his sobs were silent so as to not bring
attention to himself. The horrors of the Kansas center just two years ago
raced through his mind where he had entered a free-spirited teenage boy and
left a broken slave nothing but property and eager to please anyone who
bought him. He couldn't imagine a product of that program being anything
but a good slave the rest of their life. But, then, he couldn't imagine
Master Juan viewing him as suspect in his training just because he moaned a
little when Master Juan forcibly fucked him and shuttered a little when
Master Juan unexpectedly grabbed his balls in the kitchen and started
pumping his big prick and massaging his balls until he shot off into cup
held in front of him. He had never resisted in any way or done anything
but cooperate with the manhandling. After all, he was only a slave.
Beauty needn't have worried so much. Juan made his calls and reported
back the Kansas slave training center had a good reputation and reported
few 'rouge' slaves among their alumni that ever needed to be retrained or
disposed of.
"Sorry to have alarmed you, Christian, but I'm so use to slaves
trained to Rico's standards I guess I'm overly critical of what other's are
doing in the training arena."
"Hooray! Kansas is redeemed," I laughed and Beauty, still in full
display, risked a relieved smile. "I had no intentions of being without
Beauty for a month anyway while you worked him over at your ranch," I
added. "He's too handy around here to be gone a whole month," I said as I
reached over and rubbed Beauty's ass to emphasize what I was talking
about. "But, if he ever needs retraining, I know where to send him - the
same place as Rico was trained and the price you cited can't be beat."
Juan left the next day in that he had done what he came to do and he
needed to get back to his business he said. I could imagine how busy he
probably was down in Brazil what with the constant arrival of new stock,
the management of the huge operation he was running, and then constantly
selling off his finished products before his holding pens were jammed.
"It's been three years since you visited my ranch, Christian?" Juan
almost pleaded. "And we get along as well as ever despite being apart so
long. It's like destiny has determined we're to be best friends
forever. You don't seem overly occupied. Can't you come down for a good
vacation before too long - you can even bring your slaves with you if you
think you would miss them too much."
"It's not a bad idea, Juan. I did really enjoy my last visit and
you're a great host. And that ranch of yours has all sorts of hidden
treats, so I can see why you're anxious to get back, business or not, you
horny old bastard. I'll think on it and let you know if I can work
something out."
"Be sure you do, Christian. I promise I won't drag you off to some
slave dealers in San Paulo the next time like I did before. But, believe
me, I never dreamed my friend Senor Alcazar was going off buying a few
slaves when I set up the visit."
"That was one of the highlights of my trip, Juan. If I do come down
again, I'd love to visit some of the local markets - it's not only
educational but fun."
"Whatever you want, buddy. As long as you visit, I'll set up anything
you want - a bout with a fresh white stud from the rutting sheds; a romp
with a muscular black from Africa; a good sucking by a fresh Middle Eastern
boy - you name it, it's yours, my friend. But I think what you might really
like is watching some fresh meat from right here in New York City being put
through their paces as we turn them from the good-looking 'boy next door'
to a high priced offering in next year's market place."
"You know me like a book, Juan," I replied in a tone that told Juan I
would indeed seriously consider a visit in the near future.
Rico chauffeured us back to the New Jersey private air field with
Beauty in the back sucking off Juan so he would be completely drained
before the six hour trip home alone.
"Have you ever traveled without a slave or two to play with?" I asked,
rather worried about my friend's welfare. "I could loan you Beauty here
for the trip if you'd promise to get him back to me before too long."
"That's nice of you, Christian, but not necessary. I've got a lot of
paperwork to catch up on before I get back and can't afford the time to be
distracted anyway. Besides, it's not like I've been deprived of any action
while I was visiting you," he laughed as he put his hands around Beauty's
head and pressed the boy's mouth totally into his groin and raised slightly
out of the seat and gasped.
Juan dumped a fresh load well down into Beauty's stomach just as we
arrived at the private air facility. Juan hopped onto the waiting plane
and, within minutes, his plane could barely be seen in the sky.
"You drive, Beauty," I commanded. "I want Rico to suck me off on the
way home. Juan's not the only one needing a little relief."
"Yes, master," both slaves answered simultaneously as Beauty took the
wheel and Rico took to the floor directly in front of me in the back seat,
his mouth already open for action. By the time we arrived at my townhouse,
I had been completely drained, Rico had had his afternoon snack, and Beauty
was hard and dripping once again. We were back to normal.
CHAPTER 11
Two months later, I did arrange to visit Juan at his ranch. When I
called him of my plans, he was wildly enthusiastic.
"It's a great time to visit. The weather's really nice this time of
year and we're right in the middle of processing a huge new batch,
Christian, that, if nothing else, are sure good to look at." Juan's
excitement at the pending visit was reflected in the tone of his voice.
"Are you bringing those two hunks of meat with you?" he asked.
"I don't think so, Juan. It's always a bother having them caged for
shipment and it's not like I would need them down there - unless," I
paused, "your hospitality isn't what it used to be?"
"I've got more than enough meat around the place to keep you well
drained, Christian," Juan laughed, "if that's what you meant by
hospitality."
"I was hoping to hear you say that, Juan. In that case, I just put
them in the kennel while I'm gone. Those two would probably appreciate a
little rest from their duties anyway," I responded.
"Make sure the kennel guarantees they'll exercise them regularly - you
don't want them getting flabby while you're gone," Juan advised. "And make
sure the kennel keeps them individually penned and that their wrists are
chained to the cage bars when they're not being exercised. That way, they
can't empty their balls and they'll be more than eager to see their master
when you return."
Two hours later, Juan called back and said my timing was perfect. He
had to deliver a dozen slaves to New York that had been purchased by a
local trucking firm to load and unload their trucks. They weren't premium
goods, he noted, but it would be cheaper to ship them up in his private jet
than the usual airfreight arrangements. He planned on using the same air
facility in New Jersey as before and the same DHL delivery service to
deliver the slaves from the plane to their new owner, also in Northern New
Jersey. I could ride back in the plane and even bring my own two slaves
with me if I wanted. "That way, Christian, it wouldn't cost you anything,
you'll be a lot more comfortable than in a commercial plane, and it will
take half the time. You'd have to change planes three times otherwise, as
you know."
"Great," I answered. Juan gave me the estimated time of arrival and
said the plane would start back the minute it refueled. "But, Juan, I think
I'll still kennel my slaves. They'd just be in the way down at the ranch
and, if you can make the trip with no slaves around as you did the last
time you flew back from New York, I guess I can grin and bear it as
well. Just have something for me to dump into when I get there," I
snickered.
"Don't worry, Christian. You can fuck the chauffeur on the way to the
ranch from the airport if you want - I can drive the damn car if you're
that hard up." We both were laughing as we hung up.
The next day, I left Rico and Beauty at a reputable nearby kennel and,
taking a cab, was in New Jersey at the designated time. Juan's sleek jet
arrived exactly as scheduled and so did the DHL agent. He promptly got the
dozen slaves out of the aircraft's locked cages and out onto the tarmac
where they stood in 'display' position before him the minute they saw the
whip in his hand and a small bag of slave pellets in his other hand.
They were all big whites, deeply tanned, muscular, and young enough to
guarantee several decades of hard work out of them. No one had bothered to
body shave them, but their head hair was cut very short in the fashion of
most draft slaves and their faces appeared to have been shaved at least
weekly. All of them had some random whip scars on them, and none of them
were by any stretch of the imagination handsome and none of them seemed to
be particularly heavy hung. Their only clothing was a heavy iron collar
with several attachment rings around their neck and a 'control' ring
through the septum of their nose. No ear rings, no tit rings, no genital
banding - all of these could get caught in equipment and damage the
property. On the other hand, the nose ring was handy for securing them at
night - any retaining chain in a wall at the warehouse would do - and it
provided a good means of leashing them when they needed to be moved to
another location or if they needed to be fixed in place. A 'control leash'
fastened to a slave's nose ring was all that was necessary to insure a
slave's almost complete cooperation with whatever his handler hand in mind.
"Their new owner has insured them for $75,000 each so whoever sold
them must have made a neat little profit. Says on the bill of lading
they're Australian - originally prisoners there before the wardens sold
them off. But," he added, "that place in Brazil that originally owned them
seemed to have done a decent job training them - they display well enough
and certainly pay attention to the whip in my hand as well as these slave
pellets I brought along," the DHL agent laughed.
Addressing the slaves, he told them they had permission to piss in
place which, with a sigh of relief they all did.
"All housebroken," the agents said with satisfaction. The agent then
had them turn around and noted their was no shit on their rump.
"The place in Brazil must have flushed them out good in preparation
for the trip so they can hold it until we get them to their new home."
When the slaves had finished emptying their bladders as ordered, the
agent threw each of them a slave pellet which was quickly swallowed with
the expected, "Thank you, master."
"As you boys probably know by now, the only way you're going to keep
from being hungry all the time is to do exactly as you're told - promptly
and with a big smile on your ugly faces."
"Yes, master," the 12 answered in unison, never taking their eyes off
of the small bag of slave pellets in his hand.
"Now get your ugly asses into a cage in that truck over there - one to
a cage and back into them so your head is up against the cage door - sooner
you've tucked yourself in properly, the sooner you'll have another pellet
of slave chow to chew on along with a nice drink of water."
"Yes, master," they all chorused in unison as they clamored to fulfill
the command.
"I know where they're going, sir," the agent said in explanation,
although he owed me none. "From now on, they'll be feed a piece of slave
chow at a time - when they perform exceptionally well - and they'll earn a
sip of water the same way. They never fed them regularly. Each scrap of
food and every drop of water has to be earned from now on. It means their
overseers have to carry around bags of slave pellets and a water bottle,
but they claim they get more work out of them that way. I could see where
it would work, though. Nothing like an empty belly and a dry mouth to
really motivate a slave."
"I hear some owners get much the same results by only allowing slaves
sexual relief as a reward for exceptionally hard work. Of course, that
would only work if the slaves were still young and randy and you restrained
them enough so they couldn't relieve themselves on their own or with each
other."
"That's the system DHL uses with their warehouse slaves in that they
want the overseers free to discipline the slaves with their whips and prods
and you can't do that well if you're always having to feed and water them.
The problem is, sir, you hate to get around those slaves - they're always
hard and dripping and it gets messy if you rub up against them. I've even
seen them rubbing up against a warehouse pole trying to get off before the
overseer whips them off it. In fact, sir, some of them start humping each
other if they think the overseer is dosing or taking a leak himself."
"Sounds like either way of insuring good work output has its good and
bad points," I responded. "Someday they'll probably work out some
combination of the two that works best."
"Let me check out the inside of the plane before you get in, sir," the
agent said. "I just want to make sure the slaves didn't crap or piss in
there. If so, by God, they're going to clean it up in that I'm sure they
were told not to. But you know slaves, sir."
The agent went up the stairs and looked around briefly from the cabin
door, sniffing the air as he did so.
"Some body smell from slave sweat, but it'll soon go away. Otherwise,
nice and clean, sir. I don't think those Aussie slaves let one drop of
piss out of their bodies. Well disciplined lot, it looks like," the agent
said, obviously pleased. "I shouldn't have any trouble with them getting
them to their new home."
With that, he proceeded to lock the individual cage doors inside his
delivery truck and I got on Juan's private jet which, if you didn't mind
looking at the stainless steel cages inside, was nicely fitted out -
luxurious leather lounge chairs, tables for your drinks, a fold-down
'fucking bench' in soft plastic, a neat little refrigerator with lots of
ice in the built-in bar, reading lamps, cabin air-conditioning controls,
and an assortment of the latest magazines which would be of interest to
Juan, e.g., "The Slave Marketeer;" "Modern Slave Training;" and "Slave
Breeding." All had a world-wide subscription base, I realized, but I'd
never taken the time to actually read through a whole issue. Now, I
figured, I would have that time.
As the plane took off, I began thumbing through the latest issue of
"The Slave Marketeer." It proved so interesting I barely had time to start
in on "Slave Breeding" which was equally interesting before the plane
started to land in Campinas. I had heard these magazines sold as well to
those not in the slave business as to those in it. After reading the two
issues I got through, I could see why. It was damn interesting reading and
the Slave Marketeer ran a full-page ad from the very place I was headed -
Juan's ranch.
Juan was right there to meet me as he had promised and one of the two
slaves he had in tow got my luggage off his private jet and into the back
of Juan's Range Rover. Both the slaves he had with him were fantastic
beauties - one an olive-skinned well muscled boy with prodigious equipment
Juan claimed was Italian; the other a smooth skinned brown boy with nicely
developed pecs and huge nipples from a breeding farm in Senegal Juan had
picked up somewhere. Both slaves would be labeled 'prime' in any market in
the world. I had just read in "The Slave Marketeer" that the 'prime' label
was only given to about one slave out of a thousand - even today when
breeding was rapidly eliminating so-called 'trash stock.' These two slaves
were certainly in that one in a thousand category.
"Take your pick, Christian," Juan laughed as he saw me looking the two
slaves over. "One can drive while you fuck the other. Then, they can
switch and the other one can suck me off."
"Sounds good, Juan. I'll take the Italian boy but right now, I'd like
a good suck rather than fucking him here in the Rover. A little cramped
for a good fuck. By the way, Juan, I read a few of those magazines you had
in the plane and saw your ad in 'The Slave Marketeer.' Very nice
presentation. Made me want to lift up the phone and order a lot of slaves
from you."
"That's the feedback I like to hear, Christian. But let me tell you,
that Italian that's going to service you on the way home puts the stock in
the ad to shame."
"Well, the brown boy from Senegal or wherever isn't exactly hard on
the eyes," I laughed as I pointed to the big bulge tenting out from my
loose slacks.
"That's what they're here for, Christian. And the best part is, they
know it!" Juan laughed as he got up in front with the naked Senegalese boy
and I got in the back with the Italian slave already digging my prick out
of my pants with his beautifully shaped mouth already open for action.
"I see what you mean about knowing why they're here," I laughed as,
with one movement, the Italian slave engulfed my entire organ and I felt
his throat muscles wrap tightly around my shaft. I marveled at the slave's
long eyelashes, his flashing black eyes smiling up at me, and his dark skin
as smooth as butter. The slave literally purred as I ran one hand through
his head of soft black ringlets and massaged his large dark brown nipples
with my other.
"Jesus Christ, Juan," I gasped. "Is this a slave or some sort of
milking machine?"
"Both," Juan laughed as the brown chauffeur moved the car out onto the
main road while his owner started playing with his ringed nipples and his
huge banded genitals.
"Where did you find this treasure" I gasped as the slave slid his
clenched mouth up and down my shaft, showing no difficulties in taking me
completely down his throat without the usual natural gagging and choking.
"One of my agents bought him at an orphanage in an impoverished area
of southern Italy. The priest running the place was overjoyed to get the
$100,000 'donation' my agent gave him for the 16-year-old 'ward.' To make
it all nice and legal, the priest called it an "adoption fee" and we went
along with it as long as the priest signed the full ownership papers we
demand with any purchase. The priest just had one stipulation - that the
boy be brought up Catholic. We assured him he would be shipped to a
Catholic country and his new owner was Catholic himself who gave generously
to the church, but, unfortunately, we didn't offer slaves religious
training. We did, in all honesty, point out the boy would probably be used
sexually - slaves as good looking as he was could expect nothing less. The
priest's reply? "It's in God's hands," as he gave his blessing to the
handsome orphan he had just sold. The priest then proceeded to try and sell
my agent several other boys just entering manhood."
"I'm being sucked off by a slave officially blessed by a priest?" I
chuckled as the beautiful boy worked his mouth up and down my shaft
expertly.
"That's what my agent said," Juan laughed. "I wonder if I should ask
my parish priest to come out and sanctify the Catholic boys I'm selling off
each and every day? You think I could raise their price if I advertised
them as 'sanctified with a special commission for their new life by the
local priest.' My priest would do it if I made it a stipulation for my
next big donation. Christian? You're Catholic along with me. Are all
religions this.. well.. hypocritical? Shit, blessing slaves before their
sale implying it's God's Will or it wouldn't be happening."
"Juan, maybe the priest's are right. It just might be God's Will.
They end up slaves, don't they and it's not just random chance. Besides,
Juan, all religions preach one thing and practice another on some issues -
they've got a responsibility to adjust to the needs of society just like
everything else - look at the Mormons, one man to every four women and
suddenly polygamy is part of the religion. Look at the non-Catholic
countries - they embraced slavery just like the Catholic countries - no
difference. And look at countries that are non-Christian - they buy and
sell slaves just like the Christian countries - no difference. So if it
makes that old priest in Italy feel better to bless the boy he was selling
into slavery, what difference does it make. It doesn't change the new
slave's life one way or the other - see, he's sucking my dick like his life
depends on draining me dry."
"Well, Christian, before you justify everything so cozily, my agent
informed me in checking the boy out before purchase, he found he was far
from virgin. In fact, he told me, the boy was well used to being fucked
when he bought him. Now just who do you think was fucking this handsome
boy so regularly?"
"No one but the Vatican claims priests aren't men first and priests
second. Look at your slave, Juan. Who could resist something like this?"
This conversation was typical of the bond between Juan and I, I
reflected. I could see Juan was the same person he had always been and my
visit was going to be pleasurable as well as interesting.
As the Italian slave really got to work, I had forgotten all about
Rico and Beauty back at the New York kennel with their handcuffs locked to
the cage bars to make sure their balls were full when I returned.
CHAPTER 12
I was surprised at all the changes in the Campinas area since my last
visit just a few years earlier. There was no doubt now that Brazil was a
full slave economy. Slaves seem to have monopolized all types of
occupations, everything from farming (as one would certainly expect) to
building new roads and buildings (again certainly to be expected). These
activities in New York were entirely slave powered as well by now. But in
the Campinas area, trucks and busses had been largely replaced by wagons
pulled by teams of slaves in full harness, taxis by slave-pulled rickshaws,
and, rather spectacularly, limousines and private cars by rather gaudy
litters carried on the shoulders of very muscular litter bearers. It was
obvious Brazilians were cutting their dependence on paid labor and
traditional fuels to a minimum.
When I mentioned this to Juan, he said fuel costs had risen to the
point where it was now considerably cheaper to convert to slave power. The
cost of a team of slaves and the cost of feeding them was about now about
one-third of what methanol cost (Brazilians had long ago learned to make
methanol from sugar cane) for any given usage and people had adjusted to
the disadvantages of using slaves: each team generally required a
whipmaster, himself a slave, to get full output consistently; it was
obviously slower, especially in intercity transit; and slave shit on the
roads was a problem sometimes. On the other hand, a nice litter could be
showier than a luxury car if done right and, with traffic congestion the
way it was, it was often faster to go by litter and especially rickshaw
than in the cabs and cars of old.
"It's certainly been good for my bottom line," Juan commented. "The
price of slaves has almost doubled since methanol got so expensive and the
demand for slaves goes up every day it seems. It's hard to keep a nice
inventory on hand anymore the way the pens empty at each sale.."
I studied the scores of litters we passed. Most owners had carefully
sought out a 'matched' team for their litter, i.e., all the slave bearers
were about the same height, the same skin color, the same very muscular
build, and, in many cases, were obviously matched in genital size. Owners
had a clear-cut preference toward bearers with large, circumcised organs
that protruded well with a tight-fitting genital band. Each bearer was
invariably 'fastened' to the litter in some way whether it was a short
chain linking his collar to the litter, a tight chain from a tit ring, or a
taut leash from a genital band. That way the slave looked like he was a
part of the litter itself, there was no way to escape from the litter, and
it assured the slave lifted and lowered the litter smoothly and gently to
avoid being choked or having his tits pulled or his balls squeezed most
painfully. Many owners had matched the slaves so carefully they looked
close to clones, especially when all were fully body shaved and worked
nude. I shared my admiration at these studied displays with Juan.
"You generally have to search a number of markets to match a full team
closely and be willing to pay what it takes to get what's needed. It's
been a real boon in selling off brothers who look a lot alike, and
half-brothers sharing the same stud sire from the breeding farms. And
muscular twins strong enough to serve as litter bearers are selling at
great prices once the demand for matched teams started developing."
"And nice for brothers up for sale," I added. "That way they have a
chance of staying together if they look a lot alike. I suppose those newly
enslaved prefer to be around family if they can."
"Well, they just might, Christian," Juan laughed, "but you're such a
sentimentalist you're absolutely charming in that your perceptions are so
out-of-touch with the realities of slavery. Even if you get sold with your
brother to an owner, the odds of both of you staying with that same owner
over the years is practically nil. I don't think any owner I know of even
thinks about that when he buys or sells a slave - they're just property and
family is a concept that only has any meaning if you are free. Once you're
a slave, your owner is the closest thing you have to a family. Those two
slaves of yours, Beauty and Rico, think of you as their father until you
sell them and they get another father. After all, like their father before
they were enslaved, you make all the decisions; you decide what they do and
don't do; and you can sell them when you feel like it. But you also feed
and house them; you protect them from predators and kidnapers; and you fix
them up if they get injured. That's the security of a family from a slave's
viewpoint. That's why most slaves are quite devoted and damn loyal to
their masters."
We passed a 18-wheel wagon, as big as any semi in the old days, being
pulled by a team of 20 slaves, 10 reined on each side of the long hitch out
in front with a whipmaster busily making sure all the slaves were in step
to the pace of a drum manned by a small slave boy five or six years old who
didn't weigh much. The carefully choreographed movements assured a smooth,
rapid pace down the road. The whip quickly found its mark on the back and
rump of any slave who was out of step with the others or failed to keep up
with the fast pace of the drum, no matter how much they were panting or
dripping with sweat. I was amazed at how fast the wagon was actually
moving considering the power source and commented as such to Juan.
"All those big high pressure tires on the wagon have a lot to do with
it," Juan said professionally, "along with good lubrication on the ball
bearings. If you have enough good strong slaves hitched up, like that
wagon does, the only limitation as to speed are the lungs of the slaves.
No matter how much you beat them, at a certain point, they simply can't
exchange more oxygen in those lungs than nature allows. A good whipmaster
keeps a slave right at the maximum exchange rate the entire time he's in
rein. Just short of passing out and slack enough to assure endurance for an
all-day run - the slave's only problem that way is that his lungs burn like
hell for several hours after he's unhitched."
I marveled at how educational this trip was proving to be and how much
we Americans had to learn yet about effective use of slaves.
Just then, Juan's Senegalese slave chauffeur brought the Range Rover
to a quick stop. There was a disturbance on the road ahead. Much to his
credit, the Italian slave never wavered from his assigned duty and kept my
shaft completely down his throat as he continued to suckle me.
I lowered the window to hear, "Rogue slave! Rogue slave!" from a man
standing by the road, obviously bemused by what was going on, whatever it
was.
"What's a rogue slave?" I asked Juan as I saw a handsome young
rickshaw slave, chained by his wrists to the rickshaw's shaft, straining to
get loose and screaming at the top of his lungs as he rocked the rickshaw
around violently in his efforts to free himself..
"Listen," Juan advised as he too lowered his window to hear the
commotion.
"You God damn son-of-a-bitch," the slave screamed as his throat
muscles pushed out bright red against his tight slave collar. "I'm not an
animal - I'm not an animal! You're treating me worse than an animal, you
bastard. Even a horse isn't fucked in public like this, you God damned
pervert. You can't treat me like this, you fucking asshole. You...."
The slave's soliloquy abruptly ended as a long penis gag was forced
down the slave's throat and tightly strapped around his head by the police
who had quickly arrived because of the traffic holdup. With a rain of whip
blows that covered the slave's body with blood, the police drove the errant
slave and his rickshaw over to the side of the road so traffic could
continued.
"What happened, Juan?" I asked as the traffic began to creep forward
again.
"That's what's called a rogue slave, Christian. A slave that goes
berserk and forgets what he or she is. In this particular case, I would
guess little to no training or a patently inept training program. That
slave doesn't even know he's a slave obviously. He was probably free just
a week or so ago would be my guess and some guy bought him for rickshaw
duty assuming he was fully broken and trained for his new role in life.
One of three things will happen, probably depending on how much he sold
for. One, he could be sent off for rendering and the owner will just cut
his loss. Two, he'll be returned to whoever sold him to his owner for a
rebate and retraining. Three, the owner will train him in place restrained
by his wrists to the rickshaw, which shouldn't take too long with heavy use
of the electric prod, unbridled use of the bull whip, food and water
deprivation during the entire retraining time, and continual adjustment
counseling. Four, the owner will try to sell him off to some unsuspecting
rube at a heavily discounted price." With that, Juan jumped out of the car
and walked over to the irate owner, a young man looking to be no more than
19 or 20.
"Went rogue on you, my friend?" Juan said soothingly as he ran his
hand through the bound slave's hair.
"Did you hear what came out of that slave's mouth?" the owner said,
still red in the face from his anger. "That will never happen again. As
soon as we're home, I'll have my handler mute the bastard and after that
his opinions will be kept to himself."
"I heard the animal part, my friend," Juan said. Turning to the
gagged slave, he jerked his face upwards with his head hair and said, "Of
course you're an animal - all slaves are. Whatever gave you the silly idea
you weren't an animal now? And even though horses generally aren't fucked
in public here in Brazil that I know of, slaves certainly are at every
opportunity. It's good for them - teaches them their position in life,
especially when it's done in public, and, of course, it's a good
opportunity for them to serve their master over and above merely pulling
their rickshaw to the very limits of their body. It's a compliment to be
fucked by your master or any one your master allows to fuck you. It gives
you a way to thank your owner for feeding you and keeping you away from the
slave rendering plants."
Juan looked at the owner who was obviously relieved someone else was
temporally dealing with the rogue slave and continued stroking the
restrained slave, moving his hand down to the slave's banded sexual organs
and stroking the slave until he was hard and dripping.
"You won't be able to talk anymore after the handler has burnt out
your vocal cords, and you'll learn to appreciate the food and water your
owner provides after a good five days of no slave chow and a full 72 hours
of no water" - nodding to the owner to make sure he understood the
prescription - "and 50 lashes of the bull whip by the handler is always
instructive for a new slave like yourself who's confused and uncertain of
his new status." Juan again nodded to the owner to make sure he understood
the necessity of the murderous whipping which would leave the slave unable
to work for several days, his body permanently scarred, but rather
permanently changed in attitude. "And having a 12 x 5 dildo up your ass,
held in by a good tight dildo holder, for a couple of months, will teach
you your ass is property of your owner, just like the rest of you, and is
there to be used by your master, whenever or however he wants, including
right here in the streets if that's what he wants. In fact, many rickshaw
slaves are fitted with a dildo every time they're harnessed in place just
to remind them they're slaves and always will be," again nodding to the
slave's owner who shook his head in his understanding of the necessity of
the prescribed measures.
"Once these corrective measures are taken, with your adjustment to
your new status in life paramount in the concerns of your new owner, and
you take on a healthy perspective of your new role in life now that you're
a valuable slave property, you'll forget all about this foolishness today
and carve out the best life you can for yourself. Look around, slave.
Everyone is laughing at how foolish you've been."
The slave did look up at the crowd gathered around the rickshaw and
burst into tears and sobs muffled by his penis gag.
"See, I knew you'd be ashamed of all the trouble you've caused," his
anguish was deliberately misinterpreted by Juan. Taking a huge plastic
dildo out of the Range Rover, Juan proceeded to work it slowly up the
slave's ass who wiggled and groaned but couldn't move due to his wrist
restraints on the rickshaw's shafts. The slave's eyes turned white with
pain at the invasion.
"A good fucking, right here in public, is always soothing," Juan
announced to the slave, continuing to pump the slave's erect shaft as he
worked the dildo deeply into the boy's ass. "I can't imagine a slave not
liking a good fucking. See, you're prick shows you're enjoying it - it's
all hard and dripping already."
After a few minutes, the slave squirted a full load onto the pavement
beneath him right in front of everyone and, as his body relaxed in response
to the orgasm, the fight seemed to go out of him for the time being and,
after Juan had retrieved his huge 'training' dildo, the police led the
slave back to the stables at his owner's house where he could be muted,
beaten, starved, and fucked into permanent submission.
But not before the owner profusely thanked Juan for his being such a
"Good Samaritan" and for his excellent advice in how to remedy a bad
situation. Little did that rickshaw owner realize he was talking to one of
Brazil's leading experts in slave breaking.
"Will those remedies really work?" I asked Juan as the brown chauffeur
got the Range Rover up to full speed again and Juan was again churning that
slave's balls for his amusement.
"Should, if he follows my advice completely," Juan said with some
satisfaction. "If it doesn't, he knows what to do."
"What's that, Juan?" I asked out of curiosity.
"Well, I gave him my card. He could send the slave to my center for
retraining for a hefty fee. Or," he laughed, "he could send him to the
rendering plant. The slave's hide won't bring much after 50 lashes of a
bull whip - it will be too scared up to be worth anything - but his organs
should bring a decent return - about 10% of what he probably paid for the
slave, but it beats nothing at all."
Two hours later, we were on Juan's property and began the long drive
from the highway to his manor house and, beyond that, his processing and
training centers, his holding pens, and his sales venues. By this time,
Juan and I both had been completely drained by the well-trained slaves, a
feat accomplished by switching chauffeurs half way there during a rest
break where the slaves were watered and allowed to piss. That allowed me
to compare the striking Senegalese boy to the Italian in their sucking
skills and allowed Juan to fuck the Italian in the back of the Range Rover
once he had the beauteous olive-skinned slave put down all the seats back
there.
I was getting as bad as Juan, I thought to myself as I looked down on
the beautiful brown slave who had just serviced me. Three times today I
had been drained: once by Rico; once by the Italian; and now by the
Senegalese.
At this rate, I'd be worn out by the time by the time I was 35, no
different than male brothel slaves, who were usually 'dried up' by the time
they reached their 30th birthday. Who said slaves weren't addictive? And
harmful to your health if you didn't watch it!
Juan's manor house was as comfortable as usual, with the
air-conditioning just right, the decor tasteful, and gorgeous naked
slaveboys always available to assist but never obtrusive. I was shown to
one of the several guest suites which had been recently remodeled. Now
there were true suites that included a sitting room/study; a huge bedroom;
a walk-in closet; a luxurious bath complete with separate bath, shower and
bidet and, adjoining, an unobtrusive slave cell complete with its own
shower, enema, grooming, and lubrication facilities. Even the
accouterments handy in a sidebar were carefully thought out for the guests'
convenience: whips of various types; a huge assortment of dildos, butt
plugs and tails, leashes of varying lengths and styles; battery operated
electric prods; along with the usual restraints useful with slaves -
handcuffs, choke collars, tit pincers, and ball holders to mention a few.
I took a quick shower and threw on some fresh clothes before I started
exploring the suite. In the slave cell, which I hadn't even noticed before
my bath, I found a well tanned white slave kneeling quietly with his knees
wide apart to best display his impressive large endowment. He was totally
body shaved outside his nice fine black head hair, had sparkling blue eyes
once he raised his head at my command, and the creamiest smooth skin I'd
ever seen on a full-grown man. He wore a thick leather collar in bright red
with brass grommets, 2" brass rings in each large tit; and a matching brass
band tightly fitted around his sexual organs.
"What have we here?" I asked the slave whose eyes were cast down
properly.
"Jim, Master, here for your pleasure," he answered in a deep bass
voice that was so masculine it seemed to emanate from his balls.
"And where were you from originally, Jim?" I asked.
"Oklahoma, Master, in the United States," the handsome slave answered.
"Were you bred there, or have you been sold into slavery?" I asked.
"Master, I'm not off a breeding farm, although we have those in
Oklahoma now, Master. I was in the career Army, Master, but went
A.W.O.L. in protest to the war. When I was caught trying to cross the
border into Mexico, the Army sold me into slavery under the standard
provisions of the National Security Act, and I ended up here in Brazil for
my slave conditioning and specialized training, Master. Once I was down
here, I was two months in basic training and another two months in special
sex training, Master."
"And how did that go, Jim?" I asked, delighted with his easy,
unassuming conversational style.
"About like the Army, Master. Not much different, really, outside the
specialized training and the fact we were never issued any uniforms but our
birthday suits and my collar, these tit rings, and my genital band. Of
course, Master, the Army didn't brand and tattoo us, but I like that better
than always having those damn dog tags jingling around my neck. And, here
it's so damn hot outside, I didn't mind not having clothes, especially when
none of the other guys did either, Master."
"A slave with a body like yours should be proud to show it all for his
owner," I commented, "especially with a nice big prick like yours, slave."
"Of course, Master," the slave answered promptly.
"Well, I see your point, Jim. 'Master' instead of 'Sir;' a slave
collar instead of dog tags; a chance to display your body instead of an
uncomfortable uniform. What the hell! And following orders and living a
life laid out by others is just like the Army, isn't it, Jim?"
"Yes, Master. Except I feel more appreciated here than I ever did in
the Army, master."
"Then, Jim, you're pretty happy with the way things turned out?"
"Yes, Master," Jim said as he boldly looked up and winked at me
invitingly. "Especially, Master, since I got chosen to be a sex slave.
The Army didn't offer that specialty that I was aware of and, once you
settle in and get use to it, some of the time it can prove to be downright
fun - even for the slave."
"Well, Jim, a slave is usually on the receiving end of things," I
laughed. "And the main job, as you no doubt are fully aware, is to make
the master happy, not you."
"Of course, Master. But a randy young buck like myself still enjoys a
good romp no matter whose calling the shots," Jim said smiling. "I get a
lot more action now by a hundred times than I ever got in the Army,
Master," Jim added, "despite the R & R and the Army whore houses."
"Yes, Jim, but wasn't that all straight sex?" I asked, " and here
you're forced into servicing male masters for the main part?"
"Yes, master. But, Master, that's the glory of it. I wasn't straight
to start with although I can bed a wench down with the best of them if
that's what I'm ordered to do. Being a sex slave is the best thing that
ever happened to me, Master, and I'm going to make sure no master is
unhappy with this boy in his bed." He paused a bit and than added, "or a
mistress either if that's what is needed. But a master would be even
better," the slave licked his lips and gain risked giving me an inviting
look.
"Prove it, Jim," I said as I unlocked his cell door and, taking him by
his collar, led him over to the bed.
As soon as I had slid out of my clothes and was up on the bed myself,
Jim did indeed prove himself to my complete satisfaction and then some. I
forgot all about joining my host for supper or evening entertainment and it
was morning before I emerged from the suite, freshly bathed and even
dressed by my new suite slave, Jim, who had proven himself inexhaustible.
I had fucked him on his back with his legs thrown over my shoulders, on his
hands and knees with his knees spread wide apart, standing bent over with
his legs spread apart, and on his knees with his mouth spread wide for my
entry.
When I was deep up his ass, I asked him about any family before he was
sold off.
"Slaves don't have families, Master," the body beneath me gasped as I
pumped vigorously into him.
"Of course not, slave, and how dare you presume to lecture a master,"
I shot back harshly, slapping him soundly across the face. "I said before
you were sold into slavery, slave," using the word slave instead of his
name to indicate my irritation.
"Sorry, Master," Jim said humbly as he noticeably pushed back to take
more of me into him, trying to convince me of his total submission. "They
disowned me when I went A.W.O.L. and I think they're the ones who tipped
the National Security Forces as to where I was, Master."
"No matter. As you said, slaves don't have families," I replied as I
arched my back and shot deep into him and then had him clean my prick off
with his tongue of the juices, lubricants, and cum that was all over it by
this time.
When Juan joined me for breakfast, he asked whether the slave in my
suite had proven to be satisfactory.
"The Oklahoma Wonder?" I smiled. "That slave is simply priceless."
"I thought you'd like him," Juan smiled. "You're into those
Midwestern corn-fed types."
"Did you know he's gay?" I asked Juan.
"No, I suspected as much as he took to his training with zeal. It
doesn't make any difference, though, Christian............" Juan started
his lecture.
"I know straight slaves can service you just as well with good
training, Juan," I interrupted. Nevertheless, Jim is a natural as a sex
slave - and, I would argue, noticeably better than either Beauty or Rico,
who are straight left to their own devices as far as I know."
"Now you're not going to be happy with them when you get back to New
York, despite their long wait in the kennels without a single chance to
unload," Juan laughed. "Maybe, if you're real nice to me, Christian, I'll
give you Jim to take home with you as a parting gift."
"No gifts, Juan. You promised. And besides," I laughed, "I fully
intend to have Jim so worn out by the time I leave, with your permission of
course, you'll be considering selling him off with a lot of old brothel
slaves just to recoup a little of what he must have cost you."
"Oh! Christian. Jim didn't cost me much. The National Security
agency in the U.S. sells off their prisoners ridiculously cheap. It's
practically like they pay you to get rid of their 'terrorists.'"
"He's a 'terror' all right. That boy would make anyone forget about
politics," I laughed. "But, if he came to you cheap and he didn't take all
that long to train, I will be more than eager to buy him from you. We
agreed to no gifts and I can fully afford, as you know, to buy a boy I
really enjoy."
"Well, I'll sell him to you then." Juan stepped over to his computer
and checked some files.
"He only cost me $50,000 and his training and upkeep cost me about
$20,000. Allow me my usual 30% markup and I'm making plenty charging you
$100,000 although I admit a boy like that in New York would set you back
twice that much."
"Sold, Juan," I said as I handed him my credit card. "Put it on Visa
now and I won't have to worry about paying you later."
"That's fine," Juan said swiping my card through his machine. "But I
insist on paying his upkeep as long as you're my guest here."
"That I'll let you do, Juan. The slave chow shouldn't cost you more
than a dollar a day or so - I know that's about what it cost me to feed
Beauty and Rico each. And, can I keep his collar, tit rings, and genital
band? They all fit well now."
"When I sell a slave, it's as is - that's includes whatever fittings
he's got. I even throw in a tube or two of lubricant if they're worth
fucking."
"Then I want four or five tubes, Juan," I joked as Juan went to a
nearby closet and lugged out a full case of K-Y to give me.
"This should last you through your stay, my ruttish friend," Juan
laughed. "Welcome to Brazil."
I thought back to the rogue slave as well as Jim, my new property and
my face clouded over briefly.
"What's wrong, Christian," Juan asked, genuinely concerned.
"That rogue slave we saw coming up here, Juan - his owner was just a
teenager, it seemed, and he must have been, well, old enough to be his
owner's father practically. And I must look like a kid to Jim - he must be
28 or so and I'm, well, you know. Isn't it hard for a slave to respect a
master who is just a kid compared to them?"
"Why should it, Christian?" Juan replied, obviously puzzled. "One's a
master; one's a slave. One's property of the other. What does age have to
do with it. Respect is an entitlement when you own a property, whatever
its age."
"But how does a mature slave feel being under the yoke of a teenage
kid, like that rickshaw slave back there?"
"Who gives a shit how a slave 'feels' about something or other?
Jesus, Christian, you think up the silliest damn things I ever heard of.
Think of all the prime age slaves given as gifts to teenagers by their
mothers and fathers. Or all those slaves given as awards to young kids
winning this and that? They all get fucked silly if they're even halfway
decent looking. Do you think anyone ever thought about the fact the slave
is older and more grown up than their master? It's totally irrelevant. A
slave is obligated to serve his master or mistress and that goes whether
their owner is 5 or 50. Slaves know that! Why can't you? Age has nothing
to do with it. Ownership has everything to do with it. If you're the
property of someone else, then you damn well better respect them. Remember
that, Christian," Juan laughed, "if you ever get yourself enslaved somehow
and find yourself sold off to a 12-year-old boy with pimples on his face
and whose so young he can't even get it up yet. He's still the master and
you're still the slave."
"Yes, but Jim must wonder a little about being fucked at the whim of
someone a lot younger than him," I persisted.
"He better not be, Christian, or it's back to the training sheds for
him. But I noticed your great concern for a slave's feelings didn't extend
over to buying outright a slave who doesn't have a clue he's changing
hands. How does the slave feel about being sold without even knowing about
it. What if he doesn't want to be sold?"
"I hadn't thought about it, Juan," I admitted.
"Oh! Don't worry about it. When he does find out, he'll probably be
delirious with joy with his good fortune in not being sold yet to a 70 year
old mistress fat and ugly as sin. That's the usual fate of slave's like
him, you know. Most sex slaves are sold off to those who have to buy their
bed partners anymore - no free person would dream of having sex with them.
If you do eventually ask him about what he thinks about getting sold to
you, I'm sure he tell you how tickled he is at his good luck. But,
Christian, that too is totally irrelevant. No one, including slaves,
values the opinions of slaves. Slaves aren't entitled to feelings,
thoughts, or opinions about what happens to them. That's one of the first
things they learn after they're enslaved. What I'm saying, Christian, that
if you asked Jim such a stupid question, he would think you were crazy or
something and, I'm sure, wouldn't even know how to answer such a dumb
question."
Nevertheless, I did ask Jim the "dumb" question when I was fucking him
on his back that next night, his huge prick hard and dripping pressed
against my stomach as I plowed into him. As Juan had predicted, he just
stared at me a while, unable to even understand what the question was it
was so out of a slave's realm of cognition.
"Sorry, master, I don't understand," he responded - honestly, I
thought.
I was learning here in Brazil. I never asked such a 'dumb' question
again. CHAPTER 13
The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Juan was proud of his
ranch and wanted me to see it all, although he thought I would most enjoy
seeing the basic training center for his purchases who had been newly
enslaved, his sex training facility where my own new purchase Jim had
received his special training, and the training facility for those destined
to be eventually sold as rickshaw and drayage slaves. Each would warrant
at least a few hours, Juan told me, but he was sure I would find it
interesting.
"Could we visit your breeding facility, Juan?" I asked.
"Of course, Christian," Juan replied, " but outside of watching two
slaves rut, there's not much to see. But you might enjoy looking the studs
over that we're currently using. Some mighty impressive boys in the pens
back there, if I do say so myself."
"Could be start with where Jim was trained?" I asked.
"The basic training or the sex training?" Juan said.
"The sex training," I replied. "I've always wondered how they got a
slave up to market standards in that area."
"Oh, there's no mystery to it, Christian, as you'll see in a few
minutes if that's where you want to start."
"I do, but I don't want to take so much of your time, Juan. I know
you've got a business to run. Why don't I take my new slave Jim with me
and he can explain it to me - after all, he's a recent graduate I
understand. If he can't explain what's going on, I don't know who could.
And you'd get a chance to catch up on some of your paperwork while we're
gone, Juan."
"That's considerate of you, Christian. That place is pretty
self-explanatory anyway and Jim should be able to any questions you have -
he is a recent alumni, as you say."
"When we get back, maybe you could show me the rickshaw training
center or whatever you called it, Juan. I'm real interested after seeing
that 'rogue slave' the other day."
"Be glad to, and once you see that operation, I think you can see
where it was obvious that rogue never had any real training for his new
job," Juan laughed.
With that, Juan went to his office to catch up on some work and I went
back to my suite where Jim was busily completing his two hours of mandatory
daily callisthenics specifically designed to keep his body in prime shape
and limber for a master's use. He was covered in sweat and still panting a
bit when I arrived. He thought I wanted to use him then and there, quickly
assuming a slave's submission position on his hands and knees with his legs
spread wide to expose the puckered opening of his asshole.
"Master," he panted, obviously expecting to be fucked.
"Not so eager, Jim," I chuckled. "Take a clean shower, oil your body,
and get your ass back here pronto. I want to take you to your old stomping
grounds."
"Yes, Master," Jim choked out, a look of complete failure on his face
as he headed for the bathroom in accordance with my command.
When he returned within minutes, his body agleam, I hooked a short
walking leash to his genital ring and we started on the short journey to
the nearby facility.
"Why do you look so... well.. So heartbroken, Jim? Aren't you proud
to accompany your master when he takes a stroll?"
"Oh, yes, master, but..... but are you returning me for retraining,
master? I had hoped... master.... that I was proving satisfactory to you,
master. I'm sorry, master, that I haven't pleased you," he said
apologetically as I led him down the sidewalk literally by his balls.
I jerked his leash sharply to show my irritation and the slave gasped
from the pain in his balls.
"You stupid asshole," I laughed. "Master Juan was too busy to take me
on a tour of the sex training facility right now and I suggested you should
be able to give me a decent tour since you graduated from the place just a
few weeks ago, unless," I paused, ''you think you need some retraining,
Jim."
I look of relief swept over the handsome slave's face and he adjusted
his pace since I had shortened his leash, forcing him to keep exact step
with me to keep his balls from being stretched continually.
"Thank you for this honor, master, and, 'no,' I don't think I need
retraining quite this soon, master, although, of course, that's not a
slave's decision, master."
"One slip-up, Jim, and that's where you'll be. You know that and it's
always good to keep that in mind. No master, including me, will tolerate a
slave who is not giving everything they've been trained to do... and more,"
I replied adamantly.
"Yes, master," Jim replied as we entered his former 'home' during a
two month stretch.
The trainers, all slaves themselves, promptly knelt with their heads
bowed when they spotted a master. When I told them I was Master Juan's
guest and was here for a visit with my new purchase as my guide, they
relaxed and, with a nod of dismissal from me, went back to their work.
"Hey, guys, look who's here," the trainers yelled to others in the
next room. "Jim's brought his new owner over for a look-see." They nodded
to Jim with satisfaction, proud that their recent trainee had found a new
owner so fast and that he was being honored by being allowed to show the
facility to his new master.
"His new master must be impressed with the slave," I overheard one of
them say to another. "We must have done a good job on him," another said
while still another said, "Jim must have learned his sex lessons well to be
honored like that by his new owner." Still another commented, "I told him
that big prick of his would find a buyer." I chuckled at the last comment
since every trainer in the place seemed to be equally well endowed.
The place itself was large and impressive. On one side, at least 25
trainees, all very good looking and well equipped, were forced on their
knees by tight thigh restraints, vigorously sucking their trainers, who had
their hands gripping their charges' heads to guide them through the
process. No matter how much the trainees choked and gagged as the trainers'
huge pricks were being forced down the trainers' throats, the trainers held
them steady until their pricks were well down the trainees' throats and
practically into their stomachs as one after another, they discharged a
full load down a suckling throat.
On the other side, another 25 were chained in place on rutting benches
which forced their legs wide apart, their arms above them, and their ass
hole completely accessible. Mounting each were another 25 trainers, all
hugely equipped themselves, who were pumping in and out of those holes
slowly but deeply as the slaves beneath them gasped, groaned, and tried to
wiggle their butts to lessen the pain by opening up more.
"How long are they fucked like this?" I asked Jim.
"All day, master," Jim answered.
When I looked surprised, he explained.
"Those on the rutting benches get fresh lube, a chance to stretch, and
a new trainer every half hour, master. Those on their knees get an
opportunity to walk around a bit and a drink of water each time they
swallow another load and before a new prick is presented to their mouth."
"Jesus, that's solid training," I commented.
"Yes, master. By the end of a training day, your stomach is full of
cum if you're on the right side and your ass is mighty sore if you're on
the left side. The next day, you're switched to the other side. Back and
forth until a slave shows he can handle it with no sweat, Master."
"And how long is that, Jim?"
"After a month, it's just routine and you can't remember when you
weren't sucking dick or taking it up the ass, Master."
"And after that, Jim?"
"Let me show you, master," as Jim guided me pass the heaving bodies
into the next room.
There slaves were not restrained in any way but were using each other
for "practice" as Jim put it, sucking and fucking each other, switching
partners whenever a whistle blew. The big difference here was that both
male and female slaves were involved in the training.
"This way, a slave learns to fuck on command if that is what a master
or mistress may want, and learns how to present himself properly if a
master or mistress wants to suck him. Of course, he's still getting plenty
of practice in sucking someone off and taking it up the butt, master" Jim
said seriously as if he were talking about learning how to play baseball.
The room reeked of sweat, spent cum, saliva, cunt juices, and ass
lubricants. Every male slave seemed to have cum leaking profusely out of
his ass hole, drool coming out of his mouth, and cum dripping off his
prick. Every female slave was wet with cunt juice on her thighs, drool on
her chin, and cum deposits in her hair and on her face. All went
frenetically from one partner to another, male or female indiscriminately,
despite their exhaustion.
"Why so frantic, Jim?" I asked.
"They're trying to earn a meal, master," Jim answered. You have to
give five fucks and take five fucks minimum, half with each gender, to get
even a minimal amount of slave chow. To get fed to the point where you're
not hungry, you need 10 of each, Master, along with at least five suck jobs
on a male slave and five oral services of a female slave."
"No wonder you seem to be indefatigable, Jim," I laughed. "Having just
a master or mistress, or even both, after this must seem like a breeze."
"Yes, Master, it is. But remember, Master, we sex slaves tend to end
up in brothels and we need to be trained for that destination as well,
Master," Jim said flatly as if all people ended up being fucked around the
clock in a brothel setting.
Jim then guided me to what he labeled "the finishing room."
"Here, master, we get really specialized training," Jim said without
explaining further.
I looked around and saw slaves strung up on crosses being whipped,
slaves being fitted with biting nipple clamps, slaves being fucked with
dildos well beyond the size of any human, slaves rimming obviously
unflushed assholes, slaves drinking each other's urine, and, over in one
corner, slaves being fucked by horses, dogs, baboons, and even a goat.
"You were here, Jim?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes, Master. Slaves here are trained for any eventuality."
I stared in amazement at what uses a slave's body could be put to and
the myriad ways masters or mistresses could creatively use a slave to
entertain their most bizarre inclinations.
"Yes, Jim," I commented. "It's better slaves are prepared for whoever
might purchase them. It's always easier, I suppose, when you know exactly
what to expect," thinking back on the rogue slave trying to wrest free of
his rickshaw restraints just because his young owner decided to fuck him in
public.
We left the training center shortly after that, but I couldn't help
asking Jim, again being led by his tight leash to his genital band, if he
had been fucked by an animal or drunk someone's urine while being trained.
"Yes, master," Jim answered with no apparent residuals of shame or
guilt which seemed to have little relevance to a slave anyway, especially
here. "But I also sucked off a dog and ate a trainer's turd, master. And,
oh, I almost forgot, once they had me.... "
I cut him off.
"I get the picture, Jim. Completely trained for any eventuality."
"Yes, master," Jim replied as he trotted beside me, his fully erect
organ bobbing and weaving as we returned to the main house. There, I
ordered him to give himself a series of enemas, freshly lubricate himself,
and apply a fresh coat of herbal smelling body oil. I then placed him over
the side of the suite's divan and fucked him long and thoroughly, thinking
back to all the scenes I had taken in back at the sex training center.
Soon, Jim was full of a fresh load of cum up his ass and, as he
cleaned me with his mouth, remembered to thank me profusely for using him.
I locked him in the suite's slave cage without allowing him to shower. He
could do that later after he had soaked up his master's cum, I thought. It
was difficult for me to get rid of the thought of some dumb animal fucking
him, but then realized he had been fucked by hundreds and hundreds of
slaves in the training center and they were animals too so I dismissed the
whole thing from my mind. He didn't seem to mind - why should I, I
figured, and it hadn't affected his ability to take a great fuck one iota
as far as I could tell.
Later, I mentioned to Juan what I considered the more gross aspects of
Jim's training at his center and the slaves' rather lackadaisical attitude
toward it.
"It's good for a sex slave, Christian. Teaches them to appreciate the
master they've got."
I thought about Juan's brief comment and decided he was right. It was
probably a necessary and vital part of a sex slave's formal education.
Lunch with Juan was served by two slaves I hadn't seen before - a
short Latino with handsome dark looks and superbly equipped and an Arab man
with a handsome well- trimmed pencil-line beard outlining his face who
retained all of his black body hair outside of some tasteful trimming
around his large genitals so they displayed well.
As I admired the naked waiters, I asked Juan where they were from.
"The one's a Mexican captive sold to us by a rebel army operating in
the southern provinces and the Arab is from a Libyan prison that was
selling off their surplus. Nice looking, aren't they?" Juan explained.
"Yes, and the Arab's unusual - you allowed him to keep his body hair.
Very attractive in his case."
"That's what the processors thought when they first evaluated him. His
body hair is evenly colored, nicely distributed, and adds to his body
features - just like that neatly-trimmed beard adds to his facial
handsomeness.
"Are you going to sell them soon?" I asked.
"They're scheduled for the next big auction, but, until then, I keep
them around the house rather than in the holding pens."
The two slaves being discussed as if they weren't there reacted by
getting bone hard within their tightly fitted genital rings and both
started dripping eventually.
"Jesus, Juan," I said, pointing to the hard-on's the slaves were
exhibiting even though they were red in embarrassment at their body's
response. "Was it something I said?"
"No, it was what I said," Juan replied laughing. "A well trained
slave seems to always respond to talk about being sold with a big hard-on.
My trainers think it's because they think they'll get some sexual relief
with an actual master."
"Well, in their case, they're probably right," I laughed. "I doubt a
new master or mistress is going to just look at them."
"You're probably right, Christian. Most any owner is going to bed
them down first thing, I would imagine, and they'll probably get some
relief before he or she's through with them."
With that, we left the two slaves with their dripping hard-ons and
Juan took me to the center where rickshaw and other drayage slaves were
trained.
It was outdoors and the first thing you noticed was the immensity of
the center. As far as the eye could see, slaves in training were hitched
to rickshaw shafts, yokes, and wagon shafts. Many were fitted with
right-fitting leather harnesses, mouth bits that pulled their lips back
cruelly, reins attached to the sides of their heads, and leather holders
that held flexible large plastic dildos deep inside them. Rickshaw slaves
had wrist cuffs that could be fastened to the shafts of the carts they
drew, while drayage slaves were invariably harnessed in place on the yokes
of the wagons they drew. All slaves here were heavily tit ringed, had thick
bands forcing their genitals out for full protrusion, and all featured a
large ring fitted through their nose septum.
"The nose rings are handy when you want to attach them to a hitching
post," Juan explained, "and the tit rings are useful if you want to bell
them. Most owners do - that makes for a nice musical note when they are
prancing down the street. The genital band is almost necessary for slaves
having to run like them - it keeps their balls out of the way nicely and
gets their prick out where people can see it properly."
"What the dildo for?" I asked.
"Oh, to remind them of their status constantly, but also it makes
their butt churn when they run - a very nice display. Owners into the
finer points of dressage want a prancing step, churning butts, and head
upright. The whip handles the prancing step; the dildo takes care of the
churning butts; and a tight leash on their slave collars insures their
heads are always held upright."
Our attention was temporarily distracted by a slave screaming in
agony, still attached to his rickshaw by his wrists. The trainer was
whipping him until blood was running profusely down his back and rump.
"Wasn't lifting his legs high enough," was Juan's casual comment.
"Happens all the time in early training. After a week or so and a scared
up back, he'll be prancing around with the best of them. It's hard to lift
your legs, apparently, when you have a big dildo rammed up your ass, but
it's certainly possible as all our finished products demonstrate."
My eyes shifted to two more rickshaw slaves where their trainer had
gotten between the shafts and behind them. They then removed the slaves'
dildos, glistening with hot lubricant, and laid them on the rickshaw seat
behind them. Each of the slaves had their heads jerked high by a
restraining leash connected by their collar to the rickshaw, their prick
and balls in full display due to their tight fitting genital bands, and
were held in place by the locks holding their wrist bands to the rickshaw's
shafts. Both were young and better looking than most drayage slaves - one a
pretty brown boy; the other a shiny jet-black man. The coarse looking ugly
trainers then proceeded to thrust their large pricks deep into the two
slaves right in front of us and fucked away without a care as to who was
watching them.
The slaves groaned and shifted as they were fucked, shame and
humiliation easily seen since their heads were forced upwards in an
unnatural position. Nevertheless, they did nothing but stoically endure the
fucking, obviously accustomed to it.
"Is this standard procedure?" I asked, rather astonished at the
audacity of the trainers doing this right in front of us.
"Yes, Christian," Juan answered. "Some of these free trainers think
it's their God-given right to fuck any slave under their tutelage anytime
they want and view it as a 'fringe benefit' despite the fact the slaves are
my property, not theirs. That's why I use slave trainers whenever I
can. They only fuck when I tell them they can," Juan laughed, "and don't
dare use my property without permission."
I studied the two slaves being fucked again and noted how accepting
they seemed, passing this observation on to Juan.
"Christian, it's either a big dildo up their hole or a big prick.
After a week or so, I doubt if it makes much difference, except most pricks
are smaller than the dildos we use. Hell, it may even be a relief to have a
prick stuck up you now and then. With a big dildo up you, it's like being
fucked every time you take a step anyway - that's why we usually fit all
the drayage slaves with them - a constant reminder you're a slave."
Another series of screams were coming from a team of drayage slaves
chained together by their necks in a team of eight. One of the eight had
fallen in exhaustion pulling the heavy wagon they were hitched to and
pulled the others, heavily chained, down with him. All eight slaves were
being beaten with a bullwhip until finally they managed to rise as a unit,
a mass of blood and bruises by the time they were able to stand upright
again. They quickly got back to pulling the heavy load with every muscle
in their body outlined in the strain, their bodies spilling rivers of blood
mixed with sweat.
"It's tiresome, but it seems to be the only way slaves learn proper
breath control, Christian. Drayage slaves' big problem is wind and they've
got to stretch their lungs until they can breathe deeply enough to meet the
pace demanded. At first, like you just saw, a few flounder around until
they get control of their body. After that, they're good for all day no
matter how heavy the load or how past the pace. It's just a matter of
getting the body properly conditioned and internalizing a 'can do' attitude
about their new assignment."
"And if they don't, Juan?" I asked.
"Well, it's off to the rendering plant," Juan replied. "That's what
so motivational about our system here. It works so well, we actually lose
very few to the rendering plants and, even if we do, these slaves don't
cost all that much. But, remember, Christian, we only use the big, strong,
stupid, and ugly for these types of slaves. Once fully trained, they're
remarkably enduring and generally last for years. They make for a good
investment actually - especially at the prices owners can snap them up for
these days - even fully trained like the products here."
"Where do most of these slaves come from originally, Juan?" I asked
curiously as I studied their mammoth frames, their layers of muscles, and
their massive chests and legs.
"They bred for it, mainly, Christian. Oh, once in a while we spot a
freshly enslaved that's naturally built for this, but mainly, they're all
bred nowadays. They're brought up to expect nothing else than being
hitched to something or other with a whip on their back and a dildo rammed
up their butt. That's why we have so little trouble with them despite,
admittedly, the exhausting work they're put to each and every day. They've
never known anything else, generation after generation. They're happy;
we're happy."
"Well, I don't know if happy quite describes falling to the ground
exhausted with blood running down your back form the whips, but I suppose
not knowing any other life would help considerably, Juan."
"That and the fact we throw a wench in their cage once a week if
they've met their work quota with no trouble. That's where their
replacements come from 15 or 20 years down the line."
"You've thought of everything, Juan," I said in admiration.
"I'm beginning to understand why that slave turned 'rogue,'" I added.
"He didn't have the distinct advantage of being bred for his work as I
remember."
"That's nine-tenths of that slave's problem, but he can be trained
nevertheless," Juan added.
"I can't believe how much I'm learning here at your ranch, Juan," I
gushed. "I have trouble assimilating it as fast as you're teaching me,
professor."
"Is that your way of saying it's time for some rest from all this
learning, Christian? How about sampling one of the house boys I don't
think you've seen yet. He's a real charmer and extremely well trained and
something you haven't experienced yet - a bred slave. He's from a breeding
farm in Zanzibar renowned for the quality of their output. He's just
turned 19, has had full training as a pleasure slave, and is a beautiful
deep brown color. It's high time you tried out a bred slave - a lot of
people claim they're markedly superior in bed. I've never noticed the
slightest bit of difference between a well trained boy like that Jim you
bought and a bred slave, but you be the judge. I'm going to use that Arab
man that served us dinner. Shall we entertain ourselves in the garden
room, Christian? It's fully equipped for pleasure of that sort."
"Who could turn down a invitation like that, Juan?" I laughed.
"Especially if it's air- conditioned. Damn, it's hot out here," glancing
once again at the hundreds of sweating slaves pulling for all they were
worth under the unrelenting Brazilian sun and the two rickshaw slaves,
covered in sweat, still being rigorously fucked by their trainers. "And
those damn whips - don't they ever stop?" I asked as we turned toward the
house.
"A good whip is essential to a slave's proper training, Christian.
But, I do admit the sound of it gets tiring over time."
CHAPTER 14
The bred slave from Zanzibar was perfect in bed but somehow
disappointing. I couldn't fault the slave for doing everything in his
power to please me, but despite his expertly trained ass and throat
muscles, his willing compliance with anything I wanted, his obvious
eagerness to please me, there was something missing. Suddenly, when I was
well up his ass for the third time that night, I realized what it was. I
really liked the suppressed resentment of a slave like the stud Thor who
admitted he hated being fucked but certainly cooperated with it anyway,
knowing as a slave there was nothing he could do but please a master no
matter what was required. It was the power of forcing a slave do something
he didn't really want to do that turned me on. I remembered Thor groaned
in shame and resentment whenever I fucked him although he managed to churn
his ass muscles and everything else appropriately. The boy from Zanzibar
viewed being fucked like getting his next meal - it was a natural part of
his life.
When Juan asked me the next morning how I liked bedding down a bred
slave, I shared my thoughts with him.
"We can test your supposition out when we visit the basic training
center today," Juan smiled. "All the new stock there get fucked right from
the start to impress upon them they no longer have any control over their
body - that belongs to someone else now. You can rape a brand new one and
see how you like it - that way you'll know if your hunch is right or not,
Christian."
When we got to the basic training center, the fresh stock had all been
given a series of enemas, most had been stripped of all their body hair
below their eyebrows, and all were fresh from the showers. Most were in a
state of shock, viewing the loss of their body hair and the indignity of
being administered forced enemas, along with a heavy metal collar locked
around their neck not unlike an farm animal, more than they could bear.
Some were openly crying; some were staring into space as if in a trance;
some were screaming obscenities; some were testing their sturdy restraints
with every muscle in their body. Now the handlers, two to a slave, were
fastening them over a sawhorse face down, their wrist manacles fastened to
rings set in the floor on one side of the sawhorse and their ankle manacles
fastened to rings set widely apart in the floor on the other side. This
forced their ass into a fully exposed position atop the sawhorse.
For most of these new purchases, this restrained position caused even
more consternation and the maelstrom of protests rose to a crescendo. As a
trained slave calmly proceeded down the line of sawhorses and jammed grease
up the exposed hole of each new slave, their panic expressed itself in
falsetto shrieks and a body covered with cold sweat.
"Pick a slave that's appealing to you, Christian, and then rape the
shit out of him. If you like it, your hunch is probably right. If you
don't, I'd stick with the bred slaves or something equally well trained.
We don't gag the slaves at this stage of their training - we want them to
hear their own screams of outrage and despair and realize it doesn't do
them one bit of good. They're going to be fucked regardless of anything
they do - that's a given for a slave and especially important to learn this
early in his training."
Juan led me over to a bound slave that was still covered with black
body hair with the exception of his pubic and ass area which had been
shaved to expose these parts to full advantage. Hanging between his legs
was a respectable package which looked appropriate for his very large
muscular body that featured wide shoulders, a tight bubble ass, a very thin
waist considering his chest development, and a nice thick (but collared)
neck. He had a heavy three-day growth of beard over rugged jaws, high
cheekbones, and deep-set dark eyes. His back muscles, most visible in his
position on the sawhorse, were large and well defined like the rest of him.
He was covered in sweat - probably from the rage he was expressing with
every breath he drew - "you can't treat me like an animal;" "when I get
loose, you'll pay for this;" "you sons-of-bitches;" that sort of thing that
pretty well matched what all the other new slaves were mouthing off.
"I think you'll enjoy raping this one, Christian. He's just been a
slave for a week now, but most of it has been in a holding pen and then
shipment down here. He's a construction worker from St. Louis enslaved for
failure to pay child support. One of my agents snapped him up - he's just
23, has a good sturdy body, and isn't bad looking if you're into the rugged
types. As far as we know, he's hetero - at least he had a wife and three
kids before he deserted her, and he's a white boy under all that black
hair."
The slave being described responded by a new string of obscenities,
directed at both of us, most of them directed toward the fact he wasn't
going to be raped by anyone, let alone another man.
Juan paid absolutely no attention to the slave at all, other than
reaching between his legs and roughly squeezed his balls, something the
slave had no means of preventing.
"Calm down, slave," Juan said as he massaged the slave's balls
vigorously. "A good fucking is the best thing that can happen to a new
slave. Teaches them their body now belongs to a master."
The large white slave bucked and twisted within the tight limitations
of his bondage with a fresh barrage of threats and violent objections.
"He's already well lubricated, Christian. Pound his butt until he
shuts up but watch that he doesn't bite you. They can't usually restrained
like that, but a few real flexible ones have managed occasionally. If it
looks like he might, motion for the handler and he'll fasten a tight leash
from the ring on his collar to a restraining ring in the floor. But, let
me warn you, Christian, this experience is going to be the exact opposite
of last night with that slaveboy from Zanzibar."
I slipped out of my clothes and cautiously mounted the hairy slave
restrained beneath me. As he felt my prick forcing its way up his chute,
he did try to bite me, as Juan had warned. But he was too well restrained
to make that possible no matter how much he bucked and strained. His mouth
never stopped as, inch by inch, I forced my way up his ass. In fact, his
screams of protest and threats got even louder. After I was fully in his
virgin ass, he gasped and tears poured out of his eyes (whether from shock,
pain, or rage I never knew or really even cared) and he was so out of
breath he couldn't scream as loud as before. When I started a rhythmic
pounding, making sure each stroke was full length in and full length out so
he would be sure to know I was 'long stroking' him for the full effect of
feeling fucked, his screams slowly died out to sobs and within 10 minutes
he was reduced to subdued crying as I reached around with one hand and
stroked his organ until it was erect - shaming him all the more, especially
when I eventually was able to milk him to a full ejaculation which spilled
all over his upper thighs and dripped onto the floor beneath him. When I
reached my own unhurried orgasm and dumped my full load well up into him,
he seemed to know I was filling him with my seed as fresh sobs of despair
emanated from a broken man. When I pulled out and cleaned myself with a
Kleenex, I knew two things: (1) I had been right - my greatest thrills came
out of fucking slaves who resented me doing it but could do nothing to stop
it; and (2) raping a new slave was an important and essential tool in
breaking him to his new role in life - it demonstrated once and for all his
body wasn't his anymore - it now belonged to someone else.
Juan had watched the whole proceeding as he quietly got an update on
the basic training center from his manager there, himself one of Juan's
slaves who had been kept on for his management skills instead of being sold
off. When I was putting my pants back on, the manager motioned for a slave
trainer to "take over."
As I watched, I saw what that meant as the trainer mounted the back of
the slave I had just fucked and began again what I had just finished. The
slave groaned in despair as he was once again entered as some of my own cum
gushed out of him.
I obviously looked surprised. "Again?" I asked.
"And again and again and again, Christian," Juan laughed. "We fuck
the new slaves until they're bleeding, passed out, screamed out, and don't
even have the energy to moan anymore. At least for the next two hours or
so with at least six to eight trainers up their butts. After that, when
they come to, slavery isn't an abstract concept to them - it's reality and
they're beginning to understand that a slave has no more control over his
body and his life than a cow bought for its milk production. It's a lesson
learned more powerful than the collar around their neck, the rings through
their tits, the brand on their butt, or being shorn of their hair. From
now on, it's a master's privilege to fuck them, milk them, shave their
bodies, squeeze their balls, work them until they drop, hitch them to a
wagon, pinch their tits or anything else that might please them. It's all
part of a well researched program. The end result is what we call a
"broken" slave, i.e., a slave that knows his place in the scheme of things,
who does anything he's commanded to do without hesitation, whose privilege
it is to bring pleasure to his master, whatever that might entail, and who
no longer thinks of himself as anything but what he is - an animal owned by
others. This program produces just that, especially when we teach a slave
what real pain is, that pain is controlled by their owner, and pain is to
be avoided at any cost, no matter what a slave has to do to avoid
it. That's why every slave isn't just fucked over and over - they're also
beaten over and over until they understand a master or mistress can do this
to them for no other reason than they are that person's property. And pain
always, without fail, follows asserting a will of your own or even the
slightest hesitation in total obedience."
"That explains all the screams and whip sounds and the sizzling sounds
of the prods I hear in the next room," I added.
"Exactly," Juan responed, "although the new slaves are exposed to all
sources of pain available to a modern master: electric shock dildos, tit
clamps, finger and ball presses, and tooth extraction; along with the
traditional forms of slave control: food, water, and sleep deprivation,
forced abstinence, additional branding, nose ringing, a ring through your
prick; and, of course, the more extreme control measures: castration,
burning out a slave's eyes, cuttingg their leg tendons, or clipping their
vocal chords. Of course, those extreme measures drastically hurt a slave's
resale value and should be a last resort. Nevertheless, every slave needs
to know what can happen if an owner is displeased with their property.
That's why we have them sample some of the control measures so they
understand their situation and force them to watch actual or filmed
demonstrations of the extreme measures. When a slave finds out it's all
for real and does happen often enough, there's invariably a drastic change
in both behavior and attitude. When that's backed up by them sincerely
thanking someone for fucking them or disciplining them, they're usually
broken and can live their new life a hell of a lot happier than before. An
unbroken slave is invariably a miserable slave. That's why this basic
slave training is so important - it leads to a well adjusted, happy slave
eager to enter his new life of service to whoever buys him."
By this time, yet another trainer had mounted the slave I had fucked
and was humping away, the slave reduced to babbling at this point. Juan
nodded in approval and led me to the next room where, sure enough,
discipline, in all the formats useful in training a new slave was in full
force.
Slaves screamed horrifically as an electrified dildo was activated
well up their ass; as a ball press was tightened; as sizzling hot brands
were pressed into their flesh. In another section, chained slaves, long
deprived, were desperately begging for a drop of water or a scrap of food.
In another section, a few slaves were having nose rings installed in their
bleeding freshly-pieced septums while others were having a Prince Albert
ring installed in their end of their pricks. TVs throughout the room
showed detailed images of slaves being castrated, having their eyes torn
out, or having their vocal cords burnt out. In yet another section, new
slaves, pumped full of Viagra, constantly stroked to full arousal and
dripping profusely, tried desperately to bring themselves off, but it
always prevented. In the largest section of all, slaves were chained to
individual posts where trainers competed with each other in how much blood
and how wrenching the screams they could get out of the slaves being
methodically whipped with all sorts of lashes, scourges, and metal-tipped
floggers.
"I'm beginning to understand why a slave is so eager to be sold off,"
I offered, carefully studying each scene before me. "Most any master or
mistress would be an improvement over this I would think."
"That's the whole point, Christian," Juan laughed. "A teacher friend
of mine always claims it's smart to ride around on a broom for the first
few days with her students and after that, she lets up a little and they
love her."
"These slaves must really love their new masters and mistresses," I
chuckled as screams of terror and agony kept up its constant wail.
"You know that fresh slave you raped, Christian? There's a market for
'unbroken slaves' with some buyers. They love the experience of breaking
the slave themselves or, in some instances, trying to keep him 'unbroken,'
that is always fighting his restraints and swearing at their owner, and
that sort of stuff. That turns them on better than anything. We always save
a few out for that particular market with the warning they'll have to be
kept under heavy restraint and with a prod in your hand the whole time you
have them out of their cage. You think you might be interested in a slave
like that? I could arrange it easily enough and they're cheap enough -
even one decent looking."
"I liked Thor, Juan. No problems with his obedience or doing exactly
what you wanted - on the other hand, he had a way of letting you know he
didn't like what you were doing to him but knew there wasn't a damn thing
he could do about it other than just bend over and get fucked. That I
liked! But keeping them chained and in a cage with them screaming
obscenities at you struggling against their shackles - no, I don't think
so. Besides, it sounds kind of scary."
"Well, I offered, Christian," Juan snickered.
With that, we left the basic training center, leaving the same way we
had come in. When we left the last room we had been in, the relative
silence was refreshing. By the time we got to the first room we had been
in, the slave I had fucked was still being fucked but probably didn't
realize it - he had passed out and looked like dead meat being pounded on
the sawhorse supporting him.
By the time we had worked our way outside again, the birds were
singing, the air didn't smell like sweat and cum, and the quiet was
relaxing.
"Juan, it's a great place you have here," I said. "I can see where
it's hard to get you to go anywhere else."
"Are you saying you want to extend your stay, Christian?" Juan smiled.
"No, Juan, but New York City just doesn't stack up."
CHAPTER 15
Perhaps New York wasn't as interesting as Juan's ranch, but it was my
home and I missed it. Six days at Juan's ranch had allowed me to see first
hand the most interesting aspects of his operation, sample some of his
house slave's he wanted me to explore, and bond again with a longtime and
wonderful friend.
But the visit was exhausting in a sexual sense. There was so much
available meat, each new offering better than the last, that my fears of
drying up and dying of exhaustion like a common brothel slave, seemed
eminent. Besides, six days was about what I had planned to start with in
view of Rico and Beauty penned up at the kennel during my absence. My
newly purchased slave Jim had been a nice bonus to the trip, but I did need
to get the acquisition to his new home. I wondered how he would fit in
with my two existing slaves, but reflected I now had a black, a brown, and
a white slave so I could pick and choose according to my mood. How
striking the tri-colored threesome would look when I took them out for a
walk, all fresh and oiled, being led by their leashes. I imagined them with
matching brightly colored neck collars and genital bands - something like
bright red or purple - so everyone would know all three belonged to me.
Juan's private jet was in use at the time I planned to leave - it was
on a long trip to pick up some recent purchases: first Turkestan where one
of Juan's agents had nailed down a great deal on six exceptionally handsome
Kurdish house slaves being discarded by a fallen dictator; and then six
Polynesian studs being marketed in Samoa. Juan said that jet had already
paid for itself in saved freight charges and was considerably easier on the
stock being transferred.
Consequently, I made arrangements for first-class accommodations back
to New York City on Brazil's major airline (at a much cheaper fare than any
American airline charged) and Juan made all the arrangements for Jim to go
airfreight next-day delivery and to be delivered from the airfreight
terminal to my home when he arrived by the delivery service Juan usually
dealt with. Jim's shipment cost was surprisingly reasonable for next-day
delivery - about five percent of my first-class ticket, but then, I wasn't
going in a huge rack of cramped cages with a plug up my butt and a water
bottle clamped to the bars being jerked around by a forklift when I
transferred from one plane to another. I would get a couple of decent
meals and some wine; Jim would be sucking water out of bottle fitted with a
penis-shaped nipple, no food at all, a huge plug up his butt to make sure
he didn't dirty his cage, and piss probably raining down on him
periodically if he was unlucky enough not to be on the top row of cages.
It was standard shipment for slaves if they were lucky enough to be on
an airplane instead of the slave transport trucks used for local
transfer. Those types of carriers frequently just crammed all slaves into
one huge trailer cage with the open bars allowing for plenty of air (and
dust) and open viewing by the public as you slowly bumped from one city to
another. It wasn't uncommon for slaves shipped like that to be subjected
to a rough fucking right in public by the strongest of the lot; to be
bruised and stomped as the slaves were tossed against each other when the
truck got up to speed and went around corners or braked hard; and to be
covered in each other's shit by the time they arrived since no facilities
were ever available. Food was throwing them some slave chow through the
bars when the truck refueled and water was being sprayed with a fire hose
if the service station had one.
I paid for my airline ticket. Juan insisted on paying for Jim's
freight charges, claiming most slaves he sold were priced to include the
airfreight charges if their new owner was from a foreign country.
Slaves didn't need passports or visas, of course, in that they were
just property, but were subject, like all goods, to custom fees. Juan took
care of that too as was his practice with an international purchase - in
fact that was completely taken of before the slave ever even left his ranch
for shipment. I found out the custom charges were modest - only $240 for a
valuable slave like Jim. For a common draft slave, Juan informed me, the
custom charges often were as little as 15 or 20 dollars for the U.S.; about
$5 for China; $3 for India; and zero for Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the
U.A.E. who imported slaves by the shiploads these days.
Juan insisted we spend our last night together, which we did. But
Juan is never happy with just one person for a full night and, accordingly,
while we were going at it, two other slaves were kneeling beside the bed in
readiness - a green-eyed boy from Kurdistan just graduated from Juan's sex
training center and a pure black boy from Nigeria, recently obtained from a
male brothel in London. Both slaves were very muscular, short enough to be
easy to handle, strikingly handsome, circumcised, fully trained for bedroom
duties, and, as you would expect, quite well hung.
Juan and I had our farewell fling, but once recovered from that,
discovered what the two slaves could offer us. Neither of us were
disappointed and, more often than not, all four of us were in Juan's huge
bed at once. Jim, during this time, was receiving a series of enemas in
preparation for his big trip, so there was no opportunity to add him to the
harem at this point.
Juan took me to the airport, driving the car himself. His chauffeur
followed, accompanied by a handler, in a slave transport truck since Juan
would be accepting delivery of 26 new slaves purchased from a Macedonian
prison at a air transport terminal nearby.
"I lucked out on this purchase, Christian," Juan explained.
"Macedonians are snapped up once they're properly trained. Everyone here
in Brazil seems to want at least one. They go for their nice builds, their
smooth skin, their round typically blue eyes, and their almost innate
desire to please. Besides that, most Macedonians are blessed by God when
it comes to sexual equipment. Some of them are hard to believe!"
As we neared the airport, I again witnessed the thousands of drayage
slaves under the whips, more and more rickshaws being pulled by slaves in
full dressage, showy litters being borne high by even showier slave
bearers, chain gangs repairing the roads and building new ones; collared
construction workers sweating away under the ever present prods and whips;
and, the latest fashion, 'display' slaves accompanying their owners from
one shop to another, all on short leash, all tightly banded to best display
their ample sexual equipment; all exceptionally handsome; and all with
bodies that defined masculine beauty. Most were led by a mistress who loved
the envious looks she got from her friends and casual observers as the
slaveboy carried her packages or knelt at her feet when appropriate. But
some were led by a master who enjoyed the raw power and appreciative stares
an unusually handsome slaveboy commanded when displayed in a fancy tall,
often jeweled, collar with large matching tit rings and a thick genital
band. I noted most of these new fads were fitted with gold or silver nose
rings to emphasize their animal status.
Juan saw me studying the 'display slaves' we passed. Most in this
district seemed to be owned by women.
"You get something like that started and in no time at all, every
women with any money at all has to have one," Juan laughed. "Those you can
market to this new craze sell for four or five times what they're really
worth. Then the fad will be over and those mistresses will be off and
running to the next fad. But, in the interim - I'm making a killing taking
some of my best looking trained sex slaves, fitting them out with a fancy
collar and nose ring, putting big rings in their tits, and banding their
package so tight it's practically a separate appendage. They're selling as
fast as I can get those tall collars welded around their necks and at
prices you won't believe."
"What a life!" I commented as we both witnessed an old lady fondling
the penis and tits of the 'display' slave of a friend with a decidedly
licentious look in her eye.
"Wait until you see what the master's have as display slaves," Juan
chortled. "Handsome freaks if you ask me. But, if you're selling, I keep
my comments to myself."
"I saw a couple a few miles back," I laughed. "A white and a black -
both were, as you say, freakish, almost. But, handsome bastards, I must
say. Both of them showing hard. How in the hell do these slaves stay hard
all the time, Juan? Even at our best, we can't do that."
"Lots and lots of training, my friend," Juan chuckled. "That, plus
never being allowed to shoot off and having a good size plug up your butt
to keep your prostate tickled all the time. But still, it's a real skill
and highly valued in both display as well as litter slaves."
"And being a house slave at your ranch," I laughed. "It was rare when
I saw a normal sized flaccid prick on a slave around your house, Juan."
Just at that point we passed the largest litter I had ever seen. It
looked like it could hold at least four persons if it had to although you
couldn't tell because it was completely curtained for privacy. It was made
out of a rich hue of Brazilwood trimmed with gold-plated fittings and
bright orange silk curtains. It was so heavy it was borne on the massive
shoulders of 14 naked bearers - all the same height and muscular build; all
jet-black; and all with approximately the same size circumcised genital
organs banded by gold which matched their spiked collars. Each of the 14
muscular bearers were fitted with tiny bells attached to their tit rings.
Juan brought the car to a virtual halt so we could both study the full
display.
"That's the owner of the slave market right down the street here,"
Juan explained without my asking. "She's really crass and crude and I
understand most of the society women here in Campinas hate her guts. She
dresses as gaudy as her litter and local gossip has it each of those poor
litter bearers with the bells on their tits and those spiked bands around
their prick and balls has daily duty in her bedroom as well as heft her all
over town on their shoulders. As a friend of mine put it: 'those black boys
on her litter have such big butts because the muscles back there have
double duty - working their ass carrying the bitch all over town AND
working their ass pumping into her old cunt the minute they get her back
home.' Christian, let me tell you, it would take an overseer with a good
strong whip to keep those black brutes sweating and panting and humping
around the clock. No training I know of would keep a slave doing all that
without steady reinforcement."
"But they're all smiles above their collars," I pointed out.
"If they don't show happy, they don't get fed," Juan chuckled.
"That's easy enough to accomplish."
Juan and I both had a laugh on that one.
"Christian, if you like your boys really black, any one of those
trotting along there might be damn interesting in bed," Juan commented.
"All that hard muscle; those big nicely trimmed dicks of theirs swinging
around in front of them; and all that sweat running down those shiny black
bodies sort of turns you on, especially when you think of any one of those
handsome brutes in your bed trying their best to please."
"Jesus, Juan. I was just thinking the same thing. What does
something like that cost down here currently?" I asked.
"A team of 14 with the litter or just one of them?" Juan asked.
"Just one, Juan," I answered. "I'm not up to 14."
"It would set you back about $35,000 - no more, and possibly less.
Black slaves have gutted the market here currently and the price is going
down, not up. It's the breeding farms, Christian. If they keep production
up at current levels, they'll be selling for no more than $20,000 in just a
few years. The goal is to get the price down to where just anyone can
afford a decent looking slave, but the breeders down here love the blacks -
they're easy to breed and there's a steady market for the pure blacks at
least. Sort of a historical thing down here as much as anything. Now up
in New York, they wouldn't have that appeal. Breeders up there are
concentrating on whites primarily with some emphasis on mixed bloods, I
understand. That makes sense. You breed what's going to sell, Christian."
"It does makes sense, Juan. Do you think it would be wise to invest
some in a white breeding farm close to New York City?"
"It wouldn't have much risk, Christian. And it would have the
potential for some solid return on your investment. After all, the only
cost are a few handlers that enjoy keeping everyone in line and knowing
their place, some good breeding stock to start with, and a little slave
chow and water for 15 to 16 years. After that, every year you've got
another batch to sell at market. Profits can be enormous, let me tell you,
especially if you pick your studs and wenches carefully to start with."
"Well, you ought to know, Juan," I laughed. "Your own breeding
operations must be making a fortune after all this time."
"Christian, I admit I wouldn't have to do anything else to make my
fortune, but of course, currently my training facilities and my marketing
and import-export operations are also bringing in more money than I care to
divulge, but slave breeding is as good an investment as any."
Juan was the best friend I had ever had, and, I felt sure, I was the
best friend he had. Both of us were without family; both of us never had
to worry about money; both of us had the same bent; and both of us were not
only appreciative of the availability of slaves nowadays, but both of us
put them to practical use. (As Juan put it, we were the ones that kept the
economy going!) Juan had found his niche in the world - Brazil's leading
slave firm into slave acquisition, slave training, slave breeding, slave
processing, slave marketing, and slave selling. As it turned out, my niche
was just about to develop.
Juan got serious as neared the airport.
"I'll admit I've been studying you, Christian," Juan started out.
"By fucking me silly last night?" I laughed.
"No, stupid. Sizing you up intellectually and emotionally - not just
appreciating that nice fuckable body of yours which I don't want to
discredit in any way. Christian, .... " he paused and pursed his lips.
"Christian, ... How would you like to work for me, buddy? I don't want to
sound ingenuous, like 'work for me' sounds, but, Christian, I really need
someone I can trust and understand to run an American office headquartered
in New York City. We're currently importing a lot of slaves from all sorts
of sources through the States and exporting several times that number to
America from all over the world. We've even got American slaves being
shipped down here for processing and training and then we ship them right
back to sales outlets in the U.S. America's demand for slaves is growing
astronomically and demand far exceeds domestic supply and will until the
breeding farms are in full operation there. Until then, there's a fortune
to be made reallocating the world's slave output to the needs of America's
economy. Frankly, it's more than I oversee properly. I need someone right
in the States who will wrest the last penny out of that market and built up
the quality image we currently have all over the world. My goal,
Christian, is to be not just Brazil's biggest, most profitable, and most
prestigious slave operation, but the world's."
"Jesus, Juan, I don't know.... "
"Shut up and listen, Christian. You're perfect for it. You don't
have anything else to do I can see other than fuck those three slaveboys
you own. You're clever. I can trust you. You understand now all the uses
slaves can be put to. You understand that most any property can be trained
to whatever the market demands. You seem to understand that slaves are just
property without rights, no different than a horse or a goat. And you
don't have any qualms about training them to market needs, buying or
selling them, or," Juan laughed, "just fucking them for a person's
enjoyment. You're even eager to invest in breeding operations for the
production of local white boys. "
"You're laying it on pretty thick, aren't you, Juan?" I laughed.
"Christian, when I first met you years ago, I said you needed a
purpose in life and you agreed. Well, Christian, the slave business is
your calling just like it is mine. Once you get yourself involved, you'll
forget about these weird philosophical notions you entertain about 'finding
yourself' and all that crap. Hell, you have 'found yourself' and it's with
a whip in your hand buying and selling human livestock. You believe in
destiny, Christian?"
"Yes," I admitted. "Things do seem to happen according to some plan
or another."
"God's will or just destiny. Hell, I don't know. But your destiny is
as clear to me as it should be to you. Just say yes to working for me and
destiny is at your doorstep, Christian," Juan stated quite empathically.
I was overwhelmed and didn't know what to say.
"Here's the deal, Christian. My agents in the U.S. will ship me fresh
stock after clearing it with you. You can add any new agents or sources
you want and get rid of any agents that aren't pulling their own
weight. You'll get 5% on each slave shipped down here from the states or,
with bred or previously trained slaves, a 5% transfer rate when you resell
them in American markets. With all stock shipped up to you, including
Americans trained down here, you'll get 5% of their selling price in the
U.S. I'll rely on you for quotas of nationalities, colors, sizes, and
shapes, based on what's selling for top prices in the U.S. I want you to
buy up breeding farms already in operation and set up some new ones using
American studs and breeding wenches, using my capitol to set the whole
operation up. In return, I'll get 5% commission on output from those farms
when they're of prime selling age. The more you sell (or breed), the more
the make. The more I sell to you, the more I make. It's a win-win
situation and a deal that doesn't lead to arguments later on. The best part
is - we'll both make so much money we'll be billionaires many times over
within a decade and my firm will be known as the best on God's green
earth. And you, Christian, will be proud as anything, making more money and
having greater respect than your own father ever dreamed of."
It was Juan's last comment that made up my mind. I had always felt
guilty living off inherited wealth, even when I knew I could never spend it
all, no matter what I did or didn't do. I wanted an identity of my own and
Juan was offering it to me on a golden spoon.
"Is there a retirement plan? And what about medical insurance?" I
joked.
"God Almighty, Christian," Juan practically exploded. "Is that a
'yes'?"
"Yes, Juan, and fuck the retirement plan. I was thinking the other
day I'll probably have the life span of a brothel slave if I don't stop
fucking slaves three or four times a day."
"You're growing up, Christian," Juan said. "But I have that same worry
about fucking myself to death," he laughed.
We embraced and I now worked for Juan de Silva - an arrangement that
lasted for many a year and, as Juan had predicted, made us both
multi-billionaires within 5 years, not the 10 he had predicted.
CHAPTER 16
Six Weeks Later:
Parading Jim, Rico and Beauty on a stroll through Central Park was
satisfying, although not quite the sensation I thought it would be. The
trouble was, everyone else seemed to have the same idea and with stock just
as good looking and sexually exciting as my three slaves. True, having
them outfitted alike (bright orange collars and genital bands fitted
tightly with matching gold plated tit-rings) and each a different fully
shaved hide color (black, brown and white) along with the different leash
placements (one slave by his collar; another by his tit ring; and the third
by his genital band) created some stares of appreciation and admiration.
But many other masters and mistresses had put thought and energy into both
what they were displaying and how they were displayed. Some people too poor
to own even one slave came to the park just to see what was being shown
that day - the same people that routinely go to the slave markets to see
what new stock had come in overnight. The advantage of Central Park
viewing was you were viewing the best the markets had to offer; the
advantage of visiting the slave markets was that you could actually feel
the goods for yourself, including stroking a big buck into a full dripping
erection and no one seemed to care much even knowing you couldn't afford to
buy the goods being offered that day.
Six weeks ago, when I had arrived back in New York, I freshened up in
my townhouse and then walked down to the kennel where I had boarded my two
slaves Rico and Beauty. They squealed in delight when they first spotted
me through the bars of their cages, both springing full erections just from
seeing their master again. They seemed to be in good shape, obviously
having been fed, watered, and exercised properly in my absence. Their
dripping erections indicated the kennel had followed my directions in
keeping them shackled within their cages so they couldn't get themselves
off no matter how needy they got over the entire week I had been gone. I
must say the place was reasonably clean (they and their cages had obviously
been hosed down recently) and the other kennel occupants seemed well taken
care of despite their cramped cage confinement.
As I paid the kennel's fees for maintenance of the two slaves, I asked
the owner how his business was doing.
"Thanks for asking, sir," he answered politely. "I can't complain and
we're adding some services almost every month that's beginning to add to
the bottom line."
"Well, there's more and more slaves every day here in New York and a
certain percentage of those are going to have to be kenneled now and then
for their owner's convenience," I commented, "but what are the new
services? I thought a kennel just fed, watered, and exercised slaves
primarily. Oh, maybe a nice grooming occasionally."
"More than occasionally, sir," the kennel owner laughed. "Some owners
are bringing in their stock just for that during the day without ever
renting a cage. But we now offer some services you used to have to take
your stock to a slave market to get: tit ringing, re-collaring, genital
banding, ear ringing, personalized decorative tattooing and branding,
installation of a penile ring or a ring through the slave's nose septum,
circumcision, and, our latest new service, deballing."
"Well, that is handy," I complimented the owner, "but just how many
are turning their studs into eunuchs these days? Oh, I know they used to
back in Roman times and in the Old American South, but you're giving up
their studding potential and probably some strength and energy in the long
haul - at least from what I've read."
"Well, one good stud can service 500 breeding wenches if he's managed
right," the kennel owner laughed, "so not every slave stud needs to
reproduce anyway. And, if a slave is nutted after he's fully mature,
there's a lot of debate about just how much strength and stamina you really
lose when you castrate them. A lot of aggression, probably, but not much
actual strength, it seems. A slave that has trouble controlling their
aggression and gets a little feisty sometimes or seems to need too much
whip to make him easily managed is a natural candidate for the procedure in
my mind. It's easy enough to do and they recover quickly if it's done
properly. Not much risk and a lot to gain in certain cases. We're able to
offer the procedure for only $300 plus boarding charges for three days.
That's peanuts compared to what slaves cost. Not too much more than we
charge for a nice clean nose ringing these days."
"But, how many owners are actually forking over the money?"
"For a nose ringing or a deballing?"
"Ball removal," I answered.
"We're doing about 3 or 4 a day anymore. We've got a whole new wing
added just for that procedure and then caging them for recovery. Not many,
compared to the numbers brought to us for banding their slave's packages or
ringing their tits, but still worth our investment in the new
facilities. The biggest growth has been in installing a large ring right
through a slave's nose septum. Owners like it as a great control device -
it's easy to hook a leash to, for example, or to fasten a slave to a
retainer ring - but a lot of them just like the look it gives - it's
catching on fast, sir. You might want to consider it for these two," he
said, looking down at my own slaves kneeling beside me, my two leashes
fastened securely to each of their genital bands.
Once the bill was paid, I led the two slaves to their "home" a short
distance away, each walking behind me in perfect coordination the length
their leash allowed. As they had been trained, each kept their heads
upright with lowered eyes, their posture erect, and remained totally
quiet. But both slaves were obviously very happy to be uncaged at last,
sniffing the fresh air, practically prancing in their step, and proudly
flaunting their bodily assets as others walking glanced appreciatively at
them, especially their huge erections, still hard and dripping.
Along the way, I was amused by a stocky middle aged black master, more
fat than stocky actually, fucking his muscular light-skinned Mexican slave.
The handsome slave, looking to be in his late teens, was bent over a park
bench while his master fucked him, his collar leash tied to the bench
itself so make sure he stayed bent over properly. The young slave's owner
was quite well hung and it seemed amazing the slaveboy could handle the
pounding without being split in two, but other than the slave groaning and
grimacing in pain, he seemed to be handling it, no doubt well broken in to
his master's huge tool by this time.
I stopped, along with some others out for a stroll, to take in the
little show and noticed by own two slaves glued to the scene being played
out in front of them, their pricks quivering and dripping copiously. It
didn't take much to get them all excited, I thought, after spending a week
in a cage shackled so they couldn't bring themselves off. It would make
them appreciate me all the more when I put them to regularly servicing me
again now that I was back in the city.
When we got back to my townhouse, their nostrils quivered the minute
they entered the door, conspicuously smelling my new property, Jim. Slaves
are uncanny that way - any new slave in 'their' territory seems to send out
a unique scent that is instantly noticed. Both Beauty and Rico's pricks
quivered in response. I took them downstairs and showed them Jim kneeling
in his cage and explained I had purchased the slave while in Brazil. He
was an Oklahoma boy, a few years older than them, and specially trained as
a sex slave in a renowned Brazilian slave training center - owned and
operated by my friend Master Juan who had fucked both of them here in this
very house on his last visit.
"It will be nice to have a pretty white slave to service me when I
want in addition to you two colored ones," I smiled. "A master always
enjoys a nice variety at hand."
That's all I said in that there is no need to explain anything to a
slave, let alone justify anything. I didn't give a damn whether they felt
threatened by the new arrival or not - it was their job to accommodate me -
not the other way around.
Whether there was tension or not at the new competition for my usage I
don't know. I never saw any of it and by that night all three were serving
supper, each dripping hard, each eager to do anything requested without
hesitation, and each properly subservient. When I ordered Jim to fuck Rico
for my entertainment, he mounted Rico eagerly while Rico, on his hands and
knees, took Jim's large organ up his chute without a moment's hesitation
and, as Jim pumped away, got a big smile on his face even before I ordered
Beauty to get beneath Rico's body and suck him off. Later, I had Jim suck
Beauty off and, after those initial introductions to each other's bodies,
the slaves got along fine with each other. My timing was perfect. The two
kenneled slaves hadn't been allowed to cum in over a week; Jim hadn't been
allowed to cum for the entire time he was in transit. No wonder they liked
what each could do for each other - albeit under my complete direction, of
course.
Within a week, I had the three slaves fitted out in matching collars
and genital bands and was using them as display slaves as well as bed
bucks.
But, I didn't spend all my time fucking the three slaves at my
disposal. Now that I worked for Juan, I had to prove he was right in
trusting me with his business interests in the United States.
The first order of business was to invest in some long-term breeding
operations. Either buy out some existing ones that showed promise or set
some up of my own. This required checking out what was ongoing and could
be purchased if one had the capital. I had capital practically unlimited -
Juan had in essence given me a blank check!
The first purchase was a small operation located on a farm not thirty
miles north of the city. They owned two magnificent Nordic blond studs who
were being mated regularly with a small stock of only 300 light colored
American breeding wenches. It was a new operation, but promising with a
first crop of 280 now two years old and the second crop of 283 (some
twinning had occurred) now only a year old. Already all 300 breeding
wenches were successfully impregnated and seemed to be well into yet
another healthy pregnancy. The farm was fast running out of capital and
could barely fed the stock on hand. If they didn't find a well-financed
buyer, it was doomed. They sold to me at a great price which included all
563 products so far, all 300 wenches (all under 21 even now) with their
swollen bellies, and the two studs, only 19 now with at least a few more
years of constant fucking left in them. Assuming we could count on 250
surviving stock a year by the time they were 17 or so, we would have an
inventory of 3750 potential slaves for the marketplace without any
expansion at all. All would be white or near white and, looking at the
breeding stock, all would have a good chance of being big, handsome,
sturdy, well hung, and, by the time they would be marketed, totally
compliant and biddable to anything a buyer might want. I kept the managers
in place instructing them not to spare any cost in feeding the stock or
keeping them healthy in a clean, well-supervised environment with good
medical care and lots of exercise each and every day. I assured them their
original concept was sound - they just lacked the money to pull it off.
Now they could, but, of course, the profits would be mine, not theirs. But
they would have a good well-paying job, they would be doing something they
liked (overseeing breeding), and they could take pride in a good saleable
product if they continued doing their job correctly.
As the new owner, I did request the two Nordic studs be sent to my
overnight hotel room from the farm's rutting sheds. They arrived that
evening freshly scrubbed, completely douched, and well lubricated. Both
gave no resistance as I ordered them onto their backs with their legs
spread wide and up over my shoulders for a good fucking, but they had that
same look of controlled rage and abject shame I had so enjoyed in Thor,
Juan's white stud down in Brazil. Again, I decided it was the resentment I
enjoyed as much as the tightness of their well- greased ass chutes.
Next, I bought up six similar small operations, also nearby where I
could keep an eye on them. One was a breeding operation up in Harlem run
out of some old tenement buildings, now gutted with barred windows and
doors allowing vast open spaces for corralling the breeding stock, holding
pens for the products, and exercise and training facilities aplenty. This
'Harlem breeding factory' as it was called specialized in American blacks
and had an average yearly output of about 300 a year. It had been in
operation for six years now, but was also running out of capital since
slave pups bring little on the open market - you have to hold out until the
stock is fully mature to get a decent price. Another was in nearby rural
Pennsylvania and turned out whites primarily. A third was in New Jersey
and utilized Porto Rican slaves as the breeding stock. A fourth, in the
worst areas of the Bronx, was a little bigger but produced only draft
slaves, using some of the cheapest slaves currently available as breeding
stock - Haitian slaves. A fifth, also in New Jersey, was even bigger -
about 500 a year output - but utilized imported slaves as breeding stock -
Russians, various Balkans, and Greeks. The sixth was trying something
different - only pure blacks from equatorial Africa were in the breeding
pens. The goal was to eventually market shiny pure blacks with huge
muscular builds without a trace of genetic mongrelization. Altogether,
these six operations should produce a good 2000-3000 quality slaves a year
for the markets a decade and a half down the line.
Juan was very pleased with these initial acquisitions on American home
soil but urged me to get into some really large operations, similar to
those in Brazil, Mexico, and Poland, all of which he had at least part
ownership in. Those three countries were currently the world's leaders in
huge single-site slave breeding operations. Juan wanted ours to be even
larger.
Consequently, I went to the South and Midwest where land was a lot
cheaper and non- slave labor costs could be minimized. I settled on
Southern Missouri for one mega-factory and Mississippi for a second. Both
locations had good rail and interstate connections for shipping the
products to market swiftly and at relatively low cost, had land enough to
grow the crops to feed the products, and where it didn't get so cold you
would have a lot of heating costs over the winters.
The one in Missouri was constructed from scratch to handle over 10,000
wenches in full production, could handle over 150,000 products without
crowding or security problems, and would offer full training facilities for
every age slave during their development to market. It cost over $125
million to build the simple, but secure facility and another $500,000,000
just for the breeding wenches alone, but, down the road, the profits would
be staggering for the long-term investor. The Missouri operation was to
handle primarily whites and half-breeds of various types. Consequently the
majority of studs were white boys but a few were blacks, browns, and even a
particularly handsome well hung Asian boy and a striking Polynesian. I
designed the operation to be the breeding farm of the future with its
emphasis on lost cost per output, huge production outputs each month, and
the finest training facilities around. The goal was to market big,
healthy, handsome slaves completely trained for their new life who would
bring top dollar on the auction block.
The one in Mississippi was even bigger and we utilized a facility
bought from the state - a huge prison they had no use for now that slavery
was replacing prison sentencing. With some simple remodeling, the old
prison made an ideal slave breeding facility: the old license- plate
stamping machines were replaced with rutting benches; the hospital was
turned into a birthing center; the exercise yard remained intact as did the
thousands and thousands of cells. What used to be isolation and execution
were now devoted to training; the prison farms now were slave powered and
produced all the food needed plus some for sale; and, of course, clothing
issue was no longer needed at all. The remodeling was designed for a
minimum of 15,000 broods producing at least one slave a year on the
average, meaning, over 15 years, it needed to hold 240,000 products in
various stages of being ultimately prepared for market. It was designed to
be the largest breeding operation in the U.S. and, along with the Missouri
operation, able to fill up to 40% of American's slave markets when it was
in full production 16 or 17 years from now. Besides being bigger, the
Mississippi operation specialized in the production of black slaves
primarily, although the actual color of the product varied from jet black
to a majority of nicely hued browns to some light colored, almost yellow,
quadroons. These latter products were practically indistinguishable from
those from the Missouri operation to the untrained eye.
All of this required huge sums of "up-front" money (billions and
billions) but Juan never flinched. Just the opposite - he lauded me
constantly for doing exactly what he had in mind and reminded me
continually I was not only paving the way to becoming one of America's
richest men over time but that my father couldn't even fathom how
successful his son was to become.
As it turned out, Juan was exactly right in his forecast. The problem
was - we were too successful. Eventually we churned out so many appealing
products the market was gutted and prices started to fall dramatically.
But, just as Juan and I started to panic, slave prices dropped to the point
where the American middle class could fit a slave purchase or two into
their budget. When that happened, the market for slaves exploded and
prices leveled off and then began a slow upward trend.
As Juan said, "If you're big enough, you can outlast any market." But
neither of us foresaw the clouds gathering! CHAPTER 17
Seven years later:
No one could have foretold what happened to those most responsible for
America's prosperity. Someone in the highest places clearly thought the
nation's wealth was drifting away from their control and decided to act
boldly.
The nation's national security laws, passed hurriedly and with little
consideration years and years ago in a near panic, had proven most useful
when it came to doing what the government wanted done without the
inconvenience of running it though Congress or putting it up for a vote.
When a 10% federal tax on slave sales proposed by the Administration to
finance the huge cost of their wars in the Middle East (still going on from
way back in 2001) failed to get through Congress, the privately owned slave
businesses were declared a terrorist threat and America's top security risk
and all of them were nationalized overnight. Now all unsold slaves were
property of the national government who "could secure the nation's safety
by determining to whom they would be sold and what use they would be put to
once sold." By this time, almost 40% of the nation's population were
slaves if slaves had been counted in the census (which they weren't of
course, being property), so it was a massive transfer of wealth from the
private to the public sector in an instance since 10% of those slaves were
currently owned by these slave businesses. To quell any public outrage at
this enormous property theft, the move was accompanied by an executive
order to immediately reduce the price of slaves by 15%, a move that was
acclaimed by the vast majority of people, even though this was almost
immediately changed to a 10% reduction and, six months later, the price was
actually raised by 10% from the original prices. The only parallel was when
Saudi Arabia nationalized their vast oil fields from foreign ownership back
in the 1950s.
Thus, without warning or premonition, all of our capital had gone to
the national treasury. Juan's and my own huge fortune in domestic slaves
had literally disappeared.
To the slaves, it made little difference who got the money from their
sale. Of most importance to them was what sort of a master or mistress
they would end up with and what they would be required to do under new
ownership. But to the slaves' (previous) owners, it made a hell of a
difference. One, all our hard earned money was gone. Two, our potential
earnings base was wiped out. Three, (which made the first two mean nothing
really) we were charged as terrorists to justify the deed and promptly
enslaved ourselves, probably to insure we were out of the way and couldn't
protest or take it to the courts.
I was seized, stripped and collared the very next day in my townhouse
in New York immediately after the charges of terrorism were read to me by
the federal agents. The minute the agents caught sight of my naked slaves
Jim, Rico, and Beauty, they roughly leashed them by their genitals bands.
"Your sex slaves?" I was asked.
I nodded affirmatively.
With that, one of the agents took out a marker and placed a big "SS"
on the front and back of the three slaves.
"Put them in a separate van and make sure they're put in the holding
pens for next Thursday's sale. That's when we're selling off a big batch
of already trained sex slaves we've accumulated."
The last I ever saw of my three different colored bed bucks was as
they were abruptly dragged by their balls to a van outside somewhere,
looking totally bewildered by this sudden turn of events.
Juan was seized under the extradition laws the U.S. administration had
worked out with Brazil in obvious preparation for their bold move toward
nationalization of the slave industry.(This extradition was easily arranged
since Brazil got to keep all of Juan's huge holdings inside their borders,
including thousands and thousands of slaves - a real windfall for the
Brazilian government!)
All of the captains of the domestic slave industry were sequestered in
the vast slave pens used by the Federal government outside Washington,
D.C. for those charged with anti- terrorism activities. Those just working
as non-slave labor in the formerly private slave operations (the training
supervisors, the breed masters, the security forces, the disciplinarians,
the marketing specialists, the purchasers, etc.) were enslaved along with
us, but were generally sent to the nearest local slave pens, often the very
facility where they had previously been employed.
Thus, within a week, Juan and I found ourselves together again - this
time sharing a small pen in a stifling hot warehouse stark naked with
collars around our necks, our bodies totally shaved, our tits ringed, a
thick band tightly fitted around our manhood, a fresh brand on our left
butt check and right pectoral, a big plug up our asses, and slave
identification marks on both our inside wrists, our upper right arm, and
our left ankle. We were sharing a pen since former co-owners were caged
together so the government knew where we were coming from.
"Well, at least we have an idea of what to expect," Juan whispered,
since slaves weren't allowed to converse in a normal tone, even when caged.
Juan wiggled his hips around in an effort to better accommodate the huge
butt plug forced up far inside him.
"That's putting a positive spin on things," I said. "My tits are so
sore from these rings it almost makes me forget about the pain from the
brands. Still, I guess we're lucky we're alive, Juan. I saw the two
blacks that ran our breeding operation down in Mississippi beat to death
when they fought and kicked over being ringed and banded. Seems like the
government doesn't give a damn how valuable the property is that they
seized. They're acting like they can afford to just dispose of slaves that
are giving them a little hassle initially."
"They're just amateurs at handling slaves, Christian," Juan
said. "That much is clear. We would never tolerate the loss of two good
looking blacks just because they resisted a little at their initial
processing. These guys just view us as government surplus, not something
that's worth quite a bit when marketed properly."
More and more cages were filled as the government continued its
nationalization of the industry. Juan and I were hosed down every other
day, body shaved once a week, and milked once a week for some reason or
another. Our processing was routine - getting acclimated to being fucked
regularly by the guards, standing in various positions hours on end while
trainers fondled, stroked, pinched, and poked every part of our bodies
without us flinching, and learning how to best display our bodies for
inspection by a potential buyer once we were up on the auction block. To
both of us, we knew the routine by heart and these yo-yo's weren't into
anything new or novel as far as the marketing of slaves went.
Like slaves all over the world, our biggest concern was our future
ownership. Who would buy us and for what purpose - the main concern of any
thinking slave. Both of us weren't spring chickens anymore. Juan was
nearly 35 by now and I had just turned 32. Nor did we have the nicely
defined musculature of most slaves their forced exercise regimens produced.
We were both well hung, we were both handsome, and we both had a lot of
sexual experience for whatever that was worth. Probably due to our
advanced age, the government didn't want to spend any money in specialized
training for us. Hence, we weren't sent out for special sex training, or
draft slave training, or schooled in how to bear a new owner's litter or
pull a rickshaw. Just obedience training, posing on command, and basic
hygiene and body grooming were our only classes at the government's holding
center. We both knew the government didn't think they were going to get
much for us at our age.
Juan and I were scheduled for the same auction. Two days before the
big event, we were given a series of enemas and chained out in front of our
cage for customer inspections. Twelve hours a day for two solid days we
were fondled, stroked, jerked off, fucked with dildos, had our nipples
pinched and squeezed, our teeth examined, had our balls hefted in endless
palms, and even had our eye lids peeled back as they checked us
out. Occasionally, we were unchained, and, led by a leash connected to the
band around our balls, taken to a nearby tent which contained a bed, a
fucking bench, and a place to kneel. There, in relative privacy, a
potential buyer could fuck us, have us fuck him or her, have us suck them
off, or do anything else they wanted to explore. I got fucked by an old
fart in his 60s, a gangly teenager with pimples, and sucked off a dried-up
70 year old (which took forever). I had to fuck two females - one an old
hag in her late 50s and another about my age. Juan seemed to be more
interesting to customers: he ended up having to fuck five females ranging
in age from their early 20s to one at least 75; got fucked by six men (all
of whom were rather gross), and had to suck off a whole series of young
boys along with their fathers who apparently wanted their sons to have the
full experience of a big public slave inspection.
By the end of the two days of stock inspection, Juan and I both had
sore butts, sore pricks, and sore tits. We had swallowed enough cum to
dull our appetite for slave chow (which had taken us a while to get used
to). When the big day of the auction came, we were almost relieved in that
hordes of people wouldn't be pawing our tits, squeezing our balls, and
stroking our pricks endlessly.
Juan and I were early in the auction line-up due to our age. The best
(prime stock) was saved for last. Juan was up on the block, stroked by the
handler to a full erection prior to being presented. He was bid on by an
middle-aged Arab sheik, a black man in his mid- twenties, an Asian man who
looked to be at least 70, and a rather fat woman in her mid-fifties. The
fat lady bought him for only $35,000 - a knock-down price usually reserved
for slaves fairly well worn out.
I was next up. Bids were slow as I was turned around and made to bend
over to best display my hole, then turned around again and ordered to
thrust myself out to best emphasize my erect banded organ. Eventually, bids
were made by that same middle-aged Arab sheik that had bid on Juan, the
same black man in his mid-twenties, a crude looking white man in his
forties, a black woman in her late 30s, and another Arab man I couldn't see
very well due to the strong lighting. This time, the black man made the
winning bid and I was his for only $33,000 - a very low price due to my age
and the fact Juan was hung better and more muscular than I was.
As it turned out, Juan's mistress lived within three blocks of my new
black master - both in a middle-class neighborhood where slaves were kept
either in a basement cell, a cage in the attic, or a pen in the garage if
there was room. This didn't surprise us - slaves at the price we sold for
usually ended up as "only" slaves of middle class people who couldn't
afford the better quality slaves but who at least had something to warm
their beds and do their dirty work. Because of our owner's proximity, Juan
and I saw each other occasionally, usually when our owners had us out
shopping with them (presumably to carry their packages) - totally naked and
being led by a leash attached to one or another of our body fittings. We
even had a chance to stealthily converse on those occasions when our owner
was busy doing something else and we could whisper a few words to each
other. Juan was kept busy all the time cleaning the house, doing all the
yard work, doing all the laundry, and fucking his mistress three and even
four times every day. She seemed insatiable, he claimed, and he was kept
drained dry. Despite that, the old bag offered his services to others
occasionally, especially people the old lady owned money to.
"But, at least I'm still doing the fucking," Juan said with a big
smile. "Instead of fucking myself to death drilling my pretty slave boys'
asses down in Brazil, I end up fucking myself to death humping that old
bag," he laughed. "If I don't die first of overwork doing all the laundry,
cleaning and yard work the old bitch manages to come up each and every
day."
"My fucking days are over, Juan, I'm afraid," I declared. "My black
master is just 23, I found out, and horny as they come. I'm his only outlet
as far as I know and he fucks me, either up the ass or down my throat, no
less than five times a day. I don't know where he gets the stamina to fuck
like that, but he does. Besides that, Juan, he's hung like a horse so my
ass and throat are sore all the time. I can barely swallow the handful of
slave chow he gives me twice a day and my ass is always so sore it's hard
to sit down when I get a chance. I haven't fucked anything since he bought
me and the only time he let's me get off is when he milks me every Saturday
night for his 'special treat' as he calls drinking a cup of my hot cum.
He's threatening to sell my services to some of his black friends, but,
Juan, I'm not sure he has any friends. His biggest thrill seems to be
taking me out on walks leashed by my balls so all his neighbors can see he
now owns a white slave. Juan, did you ever realize what all those slave's
lives were actually like that we sold by lots of thousands?"
"Yes, Christian. Remember, I trained them for that life from the womb
on and broke the rest of them to their new lives in my training centers. I
knew what a slave's life was like and, frankly, so did you. Both of us
didn't have to concern ourselves about it - we were on the other side of
things."
"Juan, did training them prepare you for your life now?" I asked,
suspicious I already knew his answer.
"Yes, Christian. I knew exactly what to expect and it's worked out
about like I thought. I adjusted fast enough and I'm sure you did too. I
just didn't know whether I'd end up fucking a mistress or being fucked by a
master. Doesn't matter too much, I guess. When I'm sold off, it's most
likely going to be to a master anyway. That is, if I'm lucky and can still
be fucked to justify my cost. The day will come, Christian, when we're
both sold off as common draft slaves and then it's learning to live under
the whip. You know that as well as I do. It's the plight of any slave
losing their youthful charm."
"Juan," I answered thoughtfully, "it's strange, but I don't mind it as
much as I thought I would. I guess I knew what to expect and it's not as
bad as I thought. In fact, I kind of like getting fucked regularly and I
do feel valued. Perhaps this is my purpose in life - the purpose you always
claimed I needed. At any rate, you're right about being sold off
eventually. But I'll face that when it happens."
"What choice do you have, Christian?" Juan laughed. "In the interim,
enjoy what you can. That's what I'm doing - even if it is fucking that old
bag - beat's no fucking at all - and boy, does she like it!"
About that time, our owners returned and, with jerks on our leashes we
were led away in opposite directions. That was the last time I ever
actually talked to Juan. He was sold off to a new master who routinely had
all his slaves muted by having their vocal chords cauterized. But Juan now
was being fucked just like me - he just couldn't talk about it anymore.
Strangely enough, we both met again. Our owners had tired of us at
about the same time in that we were now in our 40s and showing it. It was
getting hard to maintain a good erection anymore and our bodies just didn't
have that youthful appeal anymore. Consequently, we were both in the same
lot of 100 being bid on for draft slaves by an agribusiness in California.
We spent the last ten years of our life under the heavy whips of
overseers out in the boiling sun 14 hours each and every day harvesting
everything from sunflowers to corn to wheat to cabbages. We worked in heavy
chains side by side and, despite Juan's inability to talk anymore, we
figured out a way to communicate effectively. All in our chain gang were
placed in the same cage at night so we were able to snuggle up and use each
other sexually when we had the strength. In some ways, we were right back
where we started - in each other arms sharing all we had in common.
We even died together as it turned out. A thrashing machine top-sided
in a ravine and our gang, chained together by the neck while clearing out
that ravine, were squashed by the huge machine, it's hot engine burning our
flesh beyond recognition.
Our death was ironic in that the thrashing machine was one of the last
in use in the United States. Slave labor was so cheap by now, the fuel to
run the machine cost more than the slaves. After that, slaves did all the
thrashing - as well as everything else!
THE END
[Comments much appreciated. Send to Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)